ti'fr ;.;;;: 



':^-s'-c7':,y:.i'.:x. 
-♦^-WMt«a,s 



I 

I 



/ 




l^^^- 



THE 



POETICAL V\aPKS' 

if/ 




RNS, 



TOGiTHER WITH AK 



APPENDIX, 



AND A CONCISE. 



HISTORY OF HIS LIFE. 



PHILJDELPHIA. 

IHINTKD A!fD SOLD BY PETER STEV/ART, NO. 34. 
SOUTH SECOKD-STRKBT. 



807. 



1 



^\\-' 






3"4'286 



/)4-4i^*l 






DEDICATION. 



TO THE 

NOBLEMEN AND GENTLEMEN 

OF THK 

CALEDONIAN HUNT. 



MY LOUDS AN6 gentlemen, -^ 

A SCOTTISH Bard, proud of the name, and 

whose hig-hest ambition is to sing in his country's ser- 
vice, where shall he so propijrly look for patronage as 
to the illustrious names of his native land ; those who 
bear the honors and inherit the virtues of their ances- 
t(>rs ? — —The poetic genius of my country found me as 
the prophetic b:u-d Elij.ih did Elisha— -at the fdough ; 
txnA threw her inspiring mantle x>yfiV me. She bade me 
sing the loves, the joys, the rural scenes and rural plea- 
sures of my natal soil, in my native tongue : I tuned my 
wild, artless notes, as she inspired. — She whispered me 
to come to this ancient metropolis of Caledonia, and lay 
my Son,:2:s under your honored protection : I now obey 
her dictates. 

Though mucii indebted to your goodness, I do not 
approach you, my Lords and Gentlemen, in the usual 
stiie of dedication, to thank you for past favors ; tnat 
p-ith is so hackneyed by prostituted learning, that ho- 
nest rusticity is ashamed of it.— -Nor do I present thi? 
address with the venal soul of a servile author, lo:)k':u,^ 
for a continuation of those favors: I was !)red to thj 
plough, and am independent. I come to claim the 
oommon Scottish nam^i with you, my illustrious coun- 



( iv ) 

trymen ; and to tell the world that I glory in the title. 
— I come to congratulate my country, that the blood of 
her ancient heroes still runs uncontaminated ; and that 
^■om your courage, knowledge, and public spirit, she 
may expect protection, wealth, and liberty. — In the last 
place, I come to proffer mv war^nest wishes io the great 
fountain of honor, the Monarch of the Universe, for 
your welfare and happiness. 

^ When you go forth to waken the echoes, in the an- 
cient and favorite amusement of your forefathers, may 
Pleasure ever be of your party ; and may Social-joy 
await your return ! When harrassed in courts or camps 
with the justlings of bad men and bad measures, may 
the Iionest consciousness of injured worth attend your 
return to your native seats ; and may domestic happi- 
ness, with a smiling welcome, meet you at your gates ! 
May corruption shrink at your kindhng indignant 
'glance ; and may tyranny in the ruler, and licentious-* 
Jijess in the people, equally find you an inexorable foe I 

I have the honor to be, 

With the sincerest gratitude, 

and highest respect, 
My Lords and Gentlemen, 
Your most devoted humble servant, 

ROBERT BURN^, 

EDrnnuRCHj 

' April 4, irar, 



CONTENTS, 



THE Authors Life .... pace. 

The Twa dot^s. A Talc • - - I 

Scotch Drink ^ - - - . - g 

The author's earnest cry and prayer to the S( otch 

Representatives in the House of Commons - 13 
The Holy Fair - - - - - 18 

Death and Dr. Hornljook - - - 26 

The Brigs of Ayr - - • - 31 

The Ordination - - - - - 38 

The Calf - - - - - . 42 

Address to the Deil - - - - 43 

The death and dying words of poor Mailie - 46 
Poor Mailie*s Elegy - - - - 43 

To J. S**** - - - . - . 50 

A Dream -- -- --55 

The Vision - - - - -/ - 59 

Address to the unco gude, or the rigidly righteous 67 
Tarn Samson's Elegy - - - - 69 

Halloween -- -- --73 

Tiic auld farmer's new-year morning salutation to 

his auld mare Maggie - - - -t 83 

To a mouse - - - - - 86 

A winter night - - - - - 88 

Epistle to Davie, a brother poet - - - 91 

The lament . . . .95 

Despondency — an ode - - - - 98 

Winter — a dirge - - - - - 100 

The cotter's Saturday-night - » - 101 

"Man was made to mourn^-a dirge - - 107 

A prayer in the prospect ot death - - 109 

Stanzas on the same occasion - - - 110 

Versts left at a friend's house - - -111 

'1 he first psalm - - - - - 112 

A prayer - - - - - - 2/)iU 

The first six verses of the ninetieth psalm - 113 

To a Mountain Daisy - - - • lU 

To Ruin - - - - \}5 

A 2 



( vi ) 

To Miss L , with Beattie*s Poems for a new- 
year's gift, - - - - IIG 

Epistle to a young; friend - - 117 

On a Scotch bard gone to the West-Indies - 119 

To a haggis - - - - - 121 

A dedication to G****H*******, esq. - - 122 
To a louse, on seeing one on a lady's ])onnet at 
church - - - - - -126 

Address to Edinburgh - - - 127 

Epistle to J. Lapraik ^ - - - - 129 

To the same - - - - - 133 

Epistle to W. S*****n, Ochiltree - - -136 

Epistle to J. R**#»**, enclosing some poems - 141 

John Barleycorn. — A ballad - - - 143 
A Fragment, " When Guilford good our pilot 

stood*' - - - - - - 145 

Song, " It was upon a Lammas night'* - - 1 48 

— " Now westlin winds and slaughtering guns" 149 

" Behind yon hills where Stinchar flows" 150 

Green grow the rashes. A fragment - - l5l 

Song, " Again rejoicing nature sees" - - 152 

" The gloomy night is gathering fast" - 154 

'■ " From thee, Ehza, I must go** - - 155 

The farewell. To 'the brethren of St. James's 

Lodge, Tarbolton - - - - - 1 5 $ 
Song, ^' No churchman am I for to rail and to write" 1 57 

WiiUen in Friar's Carse Hermitage - - 158 

Ode to the memory of Mrs. , of — ■ — - 160 

Elegy on captaii^ Matthew Henderson - - 161 

Lament of Mary Queen of Scots - - - 164 

To Robert Gra;-. v!i, of Fintra, esq. - - 166 

Lament for JauKii. Earl of Glencairn - - 168 
Lines sent to Sir John Whiteford with the fore- 
going ---- - .-170 

Tarn o' Shanter. A tale - - - - 171 

On seeing a woundtfd hare a fellow had shot at 177 

Address to the shade of Thompson - - if>icl 

Ep'tap!i on a celebrated ruling eldtrr - - 178 

— on a noisy polemic . . - - jdid 

cu^ w»ie Johnnie • - - - 179 



( vii ) 

Kpitaph for the author's father - - - 1 79 

— for R. A. esq. - - - - ibid 

for G. H. esq ... - ibid 

A bard's epitaph - - - - - 180 

On captain Grose's perigrinations - - - 181 

To Miss Cruiksiianks - - - - 1 82 

Song:, " Anna ihy charms my bosom fires'* - 183 

On tlie death of John M'Leod - - - ibid 

The humble petition of Briiar water - - 184 

On scaring some water-fowl - - - - 187 

Written at the inn at Taymduth - - - 188 

— . at the fall of Fyers - - - 189 

On the l)irth of a posthumous child - - ibid 

The whistle - 190 

Second epistle to Davie, a brother poet - - 193 

On my early days - . - - 195 
Song, " In Mauchliue there dwells six proper 

young belles - - . - - 196 

On the death of Sir James Hunter Blair - ibid 

A^erses to an old sweetheart - - - 198 

Holy Willie's prayer - . - - ibid 

A man's a man for a' that - - - - 201 

Epistle from a tuylor - - . _ 202 

Robert Burns' answer - . - _ 204 

Sonij;, the birks of AlDerfekly - - - 206 

- Stay my charmer can you leave me - 207 
Slrathallan's lament - - - - ibid 

The young liighland rover ... 208 

— - — Having winds around lier blowing - ibid 

Musing on the roaring ocean - - 209 

■ Blythc was slie - - - - ibid 

— — A rose bud by my early walk - - 210 

Where braving angry winter's storms - 211 

Tibbie 1 hae seen the day - - ibid 

(larinda _ - - - - - 212 

The d.^y returns - - - - 213 

I'he lazy mist - - - - ibid 

O were I on Parnassus liill - - 214 

I love my Jean -. - - - 215 

The braes o' B.ilioclimvlc - - ibid 



( viii ) 

Song, Willie brewM a peck o* maut • ^ 216 

— The blue eyed Lassie - - - 217 
The banks of Nith - - - ibid 

' ' John Anderson my Jo - - 213 
Tarn Glen - - - - 219 

— My tocher's the jewel - - 22Q 
—— Then gude wife count the lawin - - 221 

■ What can a young lassie - - ^ ibid 

— Bonnie wee thing - - - - 222 
— - O for ane and twenty, Tarn - - idid 
— - Bess and her spinning-wheel - - 223 

— Country lassie ... 224 
— - Fair Eliza, a Gallic air - - - 225 
— — The Posie - . - - ibid 

The banks o* Doon - - - - 226 

Sic a Wife as Willie hud . . - 227 

—— Gloomy December - - - -- 228 

■ Evan banks - - - . ibid 

— — Wilt thou be my dearie - - 229 

— -- She*s fair and fause - - - 230 

Afton Water - - • - ibid 

Bonnie Bell - - - - 231 

— — . The gallant Weaver - - - - ibid 

I Louis what reck I by thee - - - 232 

For the sake of somebody . - - ibid 

—— The lovely lass of Inverness - - - 233 

I . A Mother's lament .... ibid 

O May, thy morn - - - 234 

O wat ye wha*s in yonder town • - ibid 

A red red Rose - - - - 235 

II I A Vision . - - - 23$ 

Poems JbuTid among she Mss. of Mr» Burns, 

Copy of a poetical address to Wm. Tytler - 257 

Caledonia, a song . - * . 239 

To a gentleman who had sent him a Newspaper 240 

On pastoral poetry 241 

On the Battle of Sheriff-muir - - - 243 

Sketch. New-yeftv's day - - • 245 

Extempore on the late Mr. VV'm. Smellie, Sec. 246 

Poetical inscription for an altar to independence 247 



( ix ) 

Sonnet on the death of Mr. Riddel - - 24? 

Monody on a lady famed for her Caprice - ibid 

Answer to a mandate sent by the surveyor of 

TV'indows, &c. 248 

Song, Gie me my hij^hland lassie - - . 250 

Impromptu, on Mrs. .'s birth day - 251 

Address to a young lady - - 252 

To a young lady, Mi:is Jessy L , Dumfries ibid 

Sonnet on the birth day of the author . 253 

Extempore. To Mr. S e - - ibid 

To Mr. S -zy M'ith a present of a dozen of 

Porter - - - - . ibid 

Song. The Dumfries Volunteers - ^ 25-i 

Poem to Mr. Mitchell - * . 255 

^- — Sent to a gentleman whom he had offended 256 
y-~Onlife - . . , ii,ia 

Address to the tooth -ache . - , 257 

Song, O wha is she that lo'es me - 25g 

Jockey's ta'en the piirting kiss - 259 

My Peggy's fcice, my Peggy's form . 260 

Ken ye aught o' Captain Grose ; . . ib:d 

To Robert Graham Esq. of Fintry , . OQl 

Epitapli on a friend . . . . .265 

A grace before dinner ... . ibid 

To Mrs. Dtmlop, On sensibility . , ' ibjd 
To his lli:;!:!iland Host . . . 263 

Poem on dining with Lord Daer . , Hji^ 

Written while labouring under pecuniary diflficul- 

^ t'cs 265 

Soliloquy on the author's marriage - ibid 

This ends the fiosthumons fioems of Mr. Burris. 
Song,-^0 leave novels ye Mauchline belles - ibid 
Letter to Dr. Blackiock ^ - . 266 

Song — Auld Rob Morris - - . 268 

Duncan Gray . - . ^j^^ 

• O poortith cauld, and restless love - 270 

• Galla water - _ _ 271 

^ Lord Gregory . . . /^^V/ 

Wandering Willie . , 272 

.^--, When wild war's deadly blast was blawn ibid 



( H ) 

Song, Meg o' the mill 

I . ■■ " - Farewell thou Btream that windinn* flows 

■— — There was a fass and she was fair ^ 

. — () Lof>:an, sweetly didst thou tjlide 

Allan Water 

-^ — Whistle, and I'll cotne to you my lad 
Bruce to his troops on the eve of the battle of Ban* 

nock-Burn 
Song — Auld lang syne ... 

— Saw ye my Phely 

, How lang and dreary is the night 

»— — The auld man 

— My Chloris mark how green the groves 
-. O Philly, happy be that day 

.__ — Contented wi' little and cantie wi* mair 
,1 My Nannie's awa 

— Let me in this ae night 

— — Address to the Wood Lark 

_ — Their groves o' sweet myrtle lei: foreign lands 

reckon .... 

— ' — O this is no my ain lassie 

,— Now spring has clad the grove in green 

.— Forlorn my love, no comfort near 

p— The Ijraw wooer .... 

■ , , Hey for a lass with a tocher 

Poem — The sillcv gun .... 

Appendix 

(glossary ,,..,, 



LIl'E OF ROBERT BURNS. 



ROBERT BURNS was, as is well known, the son 
at a farmer in Ayrshire, and afterwards iiimself a far- 
mer there ; btit having been unsuccessful, he was about 
to emigrate to Jamaica. He had previously however at- 
tracted some notice by his poetical talents in the vicin- 
ity where he lived, and having published a small volume 
of his poems at Kilmarnock, this drew upon him more 
general attention. In consequence of the encourage^ 
ment he received, he repaired to Edinburgh, and there 
published by subscription an improved and enlarged 
edition of his poems, which met with extraordinary 
success. By the profits arising from the sale of this 
edition, he was enabled to enter on a farm in Dumfries- 
shire ; and having married a person to whom he had 
been long attached, he retired, to devote the remainder 
of his life to agriculture. He was again however un- 
successful, and abandoning his farm, he removed into 
the town of Dumfries, Where he filled an inferior office 
in the excise, and where he terminated his life in July 
1796, in his thirty-eighth year. 

The strength and originality of his genius, procured 
him the notice of many persons distinguished in the re- 
public of letters, and among others, that of Dr. Moore, 
well known for his Ficivs of Society aful Maniicra on the 
Continent of Eurofiey for his Ztlucoy and various other 
works. To this gentleman our poet addressed a I^'tter, 
after his first visit to Edinburgh, giving a history of his 
life, up to the period of his writing. In a composition 
never intended to see the light, elegance, or perfect cor- 
rectness of composition will not be expected. These 
however will be compensated by the opportunity of see- 
ing our poet, as he gives the incidents of his life, un- 
fold the peculiarities of his character, with all the care- 
less vigour and open sincerity of his mind. 



( xii ) 

Mauchline, 2t/, August, 1787. 
" Sir, 
" For some months past I have been rambling over 
the country, but I am now confined with some lingering 
complaints, originating, as I take it, in the stomach. 
To divert my spirits a little in this miserable fog oiai- 
nuU I have taken a whim to give you a history of my- 
self. My name has made some little noise in this coun- 
try ; you have done me the honour to interest yourself 
very warmly in my behalf j and I think a faithful ac- 
count of what character of a man I am, and how I came 
by that character, may perhaps amuse you in an idle 
moment, I will give you an honest narraiive, though I 
know it will be often at my own expense ; for I assure 
you, Sir, I have* like Solomon, whose character, ex- 
cepting in the trifling affair of msdomy I sometimes 
think"'l resemble, I have, I say, like him turned my eyes 
to behold viadness and folly ^ and like him too, frequently 
a.haken hands with their intoxicating friendship. 

" I have not the most distant pretensions to assume 
that character which the pye-coated guardians of es- 
cutcheons call, a Gentleman. When at Edinburgh lai,( 
winter, I got accfviainted in the herald's office, and look- 
ing through that granary of honours, I there found al- 
most every name of the kingdom j but for me, 

** My ancient but ignoble bloody 
** Ifas crefit through scotindreU ever since thejlood. 

Gules, Purpure, Argent, See. quite disowned me. 

" My father was of the north of Scotland, the son oi 
a farmer, and was thrown by early misfortunes on the 
world at large ; where, after many years wanderings 
and sojournings, he picked up a pretty large quantity of 
observaiion and expei icnce, to which I am indebted for 

roost of my little pretensions to wisdom I have met 

with few who understood men,, their jnannneis, and their 
tsfaysy equal to him ; but stubborn, ungainly integrity, 
and headlong ungovernable irrascibility, are disqualify- 
ing circumstances; consequently I was born a very 
poor man's son. For the first six or seven years of my 



( xiii .) 

life, my father >vas jjardener to a wortiiy gentleman of 
small estate in the ncii^hbourhood of Ayr. Had he 
continued in that station, I must have marched off to be 
one of the little underlinj^s about a farm-house ; but it 
was his dearest wish and prayer to have it in his power 
to keep his ciiildren under his OMn eye, till they could 
discern between good and evil : so with the assistance 
of his generous master, my father ventured on a small 
farm on his estate. At those years I was by no meanf 
a favourite with any Ijody. I was a good deal noted for 
a retentive memory, a stubborn sturdy something in my 

disjjosition, and an enthusiastic ideot piety I say ideot 

piety, because I was then but a child. Though it cost 
the schoolmaster some thrashings, I made an excellent 
English scholar ; and by the time I was ten or eleven 
years of age, I was a critic in substantives, verbs and 
particles. In my infant and boyish days too, I owed 
much to an old woman who resided in the family, re- 
markable for her ignorance, credulity, and superstition. 
She had, I suppose, the largest collection in the coun- 
try of tales and songs concerning devils, ghosts, fairies 
brownies, witches, warlocks, spunkies, kelpies, elf-can- 
dles, dead-lights, wraiths, apparitions, cantraips, giants, 
inchanted towers, dragons, and other trumpery. This 
cultivated the latent seeds of poetry , but had so strong 
an effect on my imagination, that to this hour in my 
nocturnal rambles, I sometimes keep a sharp look out 
in suspicious places ; and though nobody can be more 
sceptical than 1 am in such tnatters, yet it often takei 
an effort of philosophy to shake off these idle terrors. 

" The two first books I ever read in private, and 
which gave me more pleasure than any two books I ev- 
er ead since, were, Thr Life of Hamiibal, and The His^ 
U .T/ of Sir IVilliam Wallace. Hannibal gave my young 
ideas such a turn, that I \ised to strut in raptures up. 
and down after the recruiting drum and bag-pipe, and 
'w\i\\ myself tall enough to be a soldier, while the story 
of Wallace poured a Scottish prejudice into my veins, 
which will boil along tliere till the aood-gatc» of life 
shut in eternal rest. 



C XIV ) 

♦' My vicinity to Ayr was of some ackanta^ to me. 
h\y sociul disposition, when not checktd by sonic mod- 
ification oO-pitcd priile, was like our catechism defini- 
tiun of jnfmiiiKle, 'wiihout bounds or limits, 1 formed 
sievtral connexions M'iih otiicr yom^ktrs who possessed 
superior advantages ; the youni^/ing' actors wiio were 
l)usy in the reheurial of parts in wliich they vrere short* 
ly to appear en the stage of hfe, where alas, I was des- 
tined to driidj;c Ichind the scents. It is not common- 
ly al this green ai^e, that our young gentry have a just 
sense of tlie immense distance between them and their 
i-agged play-fellows. It takes a few dashes into the 
world, to give the young great man that proper, decent 
unnoticing disregard for the poor, insignificant stupid 
devils, the mechanics and peasantry around him, who 
were perhaps born in the same village. My young 
superiors never insulted the chuterly appearance of my 
plough-boy carcase, the two extremes of which were 
often exposed to'all the inclemencies of all the seasons. 
They would give me stray volumes of books ; among; 
them, even then, I could pick up some observations, and 
one, whose heart I am sure not even the Munny £em 
^m scenes have tainted, helped me to a little French. 

" My father's generous master died; the farm prov- 
ed a ruinous bargain ; and to clench the misfortune, we 
fell into the hands of a factor, who sat for the picture I 
have drawn of one in my Tale of Tkva Dogs. My fath- 
er was ad\'anccd in life when he married ; I was the 
eldest of seven children, and he, worn out by early hard- 
ships was unfit for labour. My father's spirit was 
soou irritated, but not easily broken. There was a free- 
dom in his lease in two yeare more, and to weather 
these two years we retrenched our cxpcnces. We liv- 
ed very poorly : I was a dexterous ploughman for my 
age; and the next eldest to me was a brother (Gilbert) 
wt\o could drive the plough very well, and help me to 
thresh the corn. A novel writer might perhaps have 
viewed these scenes with some satisfaction, but so did 
not I ; my indignation yet boils at the recollection of the 
fcoundrel factor's insolent tlireatening letters, which 
used to set us all in tears. 



( XV ) 

" This kind of life.. ..the cheerless gloom of a het- 
mit, with the unceasing moil of a galley-slave, brought 
me to my sixteenth year ; a little before -which period 
I fir«t committed the sin of Rhyme. You know our 
country custom of coupling a man and \Toman together 
as pirtners in the labours of harvest. In my fifteenth 
autumn, my partner was a bewitching cieature, a year 
younger tha'i myself. My scarcity of English deniet 
me the power of doing her justice in that language, but 
you know the Scottish idiom: she was a. bonnie tweet 
a'/n.v'r lanfi. In short, she altogether unwittingly to her- 
9 'If, initiated me in that cKliciou^ passion, which, in spite 
f>f acid disappointment, gin-horse p'udence, and book- 
worm philosophy, I hold to be the first of liuman joys, 
our dearest blessing here below. 

'* Thus with me began love and poetry: which at 
times have-been my only and till within the last twelve 
months, have been my highest enjoyment. My father 
strugglod ©n till he reached the freedom in his lease, 
when he entered on a larger f .rm, about ten miles far- 
tlier in the country. The nature nf the bargain he 
ma<le, was such as to throw a little reody money into 
his hajuls at tlie commencement of his lease, otherwise 
the affair would have been impracticable. For four 
years we lived comfortably here, but a difference com- 
iTiencmg between him and his landlord as to terms, after 
three years tos-^ing and whirling in the vortex of litiga** 
tion, my father was just saved from the horrors of a 
gaol, by a consumption, which, after two years promises, 
kindly stepped in, and carried him away, Voivherg the 
tvkkrd ctaficfrom troubling^ and w.'icfe the ivcarxj are at 
rent .' 

" It is during the time that we lived on this farm, that 
my little s\ory is most eventful. I was, at the beginning 
of this period, perhaps, th- mist ungAinly au';vv ir I i >y 
in t!ie p irish....no aolifalre was less acquaintcl with th- 
ways of the world. What I knew of atuient story was 
gathered from Sahnon\i an I G.ithrie*s geographic:\] 
grammars ; and the ideas 1 had formed of modern man- 
pei s« of literature and criticism, I got from the Spectator, 
These, with Po/ie^s Works^ »ome plays of Shaken fieare,t 



{ -^vi ) 

y W/ and D'ex .n on Jgrindlurc^ the Fantfuoti^ I.ockg'x 
JRssaif on the !iu?nan Undcrsfaiidirg^ htackhouae^s Ih'sfo- 
rit of the liib!- . Justice* 8 British Gnrdcfjer'ft Dirccfcry^ 
liaylr's LrCi't.rrff, Alitm Rtinu^ay^a Works^ Twdor^s Scri/:- 
ture DoctriKf of Orieinal Siji^ j4 Select Collection nf En- 
^lish Soni;s, and Narvcy'i Meditation.t, had formt'd thp 
■whole of iny readin:^ The collection of Songs was mv 
vade v:eciOii. I pored over them drivinj]^ my cart, or 
walkiniij to labour, song by sonj^, verse by verse ; care- 
fully noting^ the true, tender, or sublime, from affecta- 
tion and fu*tian. I am convinced I owe to this practice, 
much of my criiic-craft such as it is. 

" In ray seventeenth year, to give my manners a 
brush, I went to a country dancin^-schcol. ..My father 
had an uuaccountable antipathy against thqsc meetings, 
and my :^oing was what to this moment I repent, in 
opposition to his wishes. My father, as I said before, 
was subject to strong passions ; from that instance of 
disobedience in me, he took a sort of dislike to me, 
which I believe was one cause of the dissipation which 
marked my succeeding years. I say dissipation, com- 
paiatively witl\ the strictness and sobriety, and regulari- 
ty of Presbyterian country life : for though the will-o- 
wisp meteors of tlioughtless whim were almost the sole 
lighcs of my path, yet early ingrained piety and virtue, 
kept me for several years afterM'ards within the line of 
innocence. I saw that my father's situation entailed 
on me perpetual labour. The only two Qpenings by 
wliich I could enter the temple of fortune, was the gate 
of nii2;gardly economy, or the path of little ciiicaning 
bargain-making. The first is so contracted an apper- 
turc I never could squeeze myself into it.. ..the last ; I 
always hated. ...there was contamination in the very en- 
trance I At the plough, scythe, or reap-hook, I feared 
no competitor, and thus I set absolute want at defiance : 
iind as I never cared farther for my labours than while 1 
was in actual exercise, I spent the evenings in the way 
after my ow n heart. 

*' Another circumstance in my life which made some 
alteration in my mind and manners, was, that I spent 
my niucieenth summer on a smuggling coast, a good 



( xvM ) 

distance from home> at a noted school, to learn mensu-- 
ration, surveyinp:, dialling, &cc. in which I made a pret- 
ty good progress. But I made a greater progress in the 
knowledge of mankind . 

" My twenty-third year was to me an important xra. 
Partly through whim, and partly that I wished to set 
about doing something in life, I joined a flax-dresser in 
a neighbouring town, < Irwin) to learn his trade... .This 
was an unlucky affair. My » ♦ » * 
and to finish the wliolc, as wc were giving a welcoming 
carousal to the new year, the shop took fire and burnt 
to ashes, and I was left like a true poet, not worth a 
six-pence. 

*' By this I learned something of a town life; but the 
principal thing which gave my mind a turn, was a friend- 
ship 1 formed with a young feliow, a very noble charac- 
ter, but a hapless son of misfortune. He was the son of 
a simple meclianic; but a great man in the neighbour- 
hood taking him under his patronage, gave him a gen- 
teel education, with a view of bettering his situation in 
life. The patron dying just as he was ready to launch 
out into the world, the poor fellow in despair went to 
sea; where after a variety of good and ill fortune, a lit- 
tle before I was acquainted with him, he had been set 
ashore by an American privateer, on the wild coast of 
Connaught, stripped of every thing. I cannot quit this 
poor fellow's story without adding, that he is at this 
time master of a large West-Indiaman belonging to the 
Thames. 

»* Ilia mind was fraught with independence, magna\ 
nimlty, aiid every manly virtue. I loved and admired 
him to a degree of enthusiasmi and of course strove ta 
imitate him. In some measure I succeeded : I had 
pride before, but he taught it to flow in prr)per chan» 
nels. Mis knowledge of the world was vastly superior 
to mine, and I was all attention to learn. He was the 
only man I ever saw, who was a greater fool than my- 
self, where woman was the presiding star; but he spoke 
of illicit love with the levity of a sailor, which hitherto 
I ha(t regarded with horror. Here his (riendsbip M 



( xviii ) 

me a mischief, and tlie consequence was, that soon after 
I resumed the plough, I wrote the Poet's Welcome. 

" When my father died, his all went among the hell- 
hounds that growl in the kennel of justice; but we 
made a shift to collect a little money in the family a- 
mongst us, with which, to keep us together, my brother 
and I took a neighbouring farm. My brother wanted 
my hair-brained imagination, as well as my social and 
amorous madness; but in good sense, and every sober 
qualification, lie was far my superior. 

" I entered on this farm with a full resolution, come, 
go tOy I leill he wine! I read farming books, I calculated 
crops ; I attended markets ; and in short, in spite of 
the devil, and the world, and the flesh, I believe I should 
have been a wise man ; but the first year, from unfortu- 
nately buying bad seed, the second from a late harvest, 
we lost half our crops. This overset all my wisdom, 
and I returned, likz the dog to his vomit, and the sow that 
«'a* ivashedy to her %vaUowing in the mire. 

" I now began to be known in the neighbourhood as 
a maker of rhymes. The first of my poetic offspring 
that saw the light, was a burlesque lamentation on a 
quarrel between two reverend Calvinists, both of them 
dramatist fiersoniv in my Holy Fair. With a certain des- 
cription of the clergy as well as laity, it met with a roar 
of applause /A/y tnilie*s Prayer next made its ap- 
pearance, and alarmed the kirk-session so much, that 
they held severnl meetings, to look over their spiritual 
artillery, if haply any of it might be pointed against pro- 
fane rhymers. Unluckily for me, my wanderings led 
me on another side, within point blank shot of their hea- 
viest metal. This is the unfortunate story that gave 

rise to my printed poem, 7^he Lament This was a 

most melancholy affair, which I cannot yet bear to re- 
flect on, and had very nearly given me one or two of the 
principal qualifications fora place among those who have 
lost the chart, and mistaken the reckoning of Rationality. 
I gave up my part of the farm to my brother ; in truth it 
was only nominally mine ; and made what little prepa- 
ration was in my power for Jamaica. But, before leav- 
ing my native country for ever, I resolved to piiblish 



( xix ) 

my poems. I weighed my productions as impartially 
,as was in my power; I tliou,q;ht they had merit, and it 
was a delicious idea that I should be called a clever fel- 
low, even though it sh(Add never reach my ears ...a poor 

negro-driver or perhaps a victim to that inhospitable 

clime, and gone to the world of spirits ! I can truly say, 
that fiauvre inconnu as I then was, I had pretty nearly 
as high an idea of myself and of my works, as I have at 
this moment, when the public has decided in their fa- 
vour. It ever was my opinion, that the mistakes and 
blunders both in a rational and religious point of view^ 
of which we see thousands daily guilty, are owing to 

their ignorance of themselves To know myself had 

been all along my constant study. I weighed myself a- 
lone ; I balanced myself with others; I watched every 
means of information, to see how much ground I oc- 
cupied as a man and as a poet : I studied assiduously 
nature's design in my formation; where the lights and 
shades in my character were intended. I was pretty 
confideat my poems would meet with some applause; 
but at the worst, the roar of the Atlantic would deafen 
the voice of censure, and the novelty of West-Indian 
scenes make me forget neglect. I threw off six hun- 
dred copies, of which I had got subscriptions for about 
three hundred and fifty. My vanity was highly grati- 
fied by the reception I met with from the public; and 
l)csides, I pocketed, all expences deducted, nearly twen- 
ty pounds. This sum came very teasonably as I was 
thinking of indenting myself, for want of money to pro- 
cure my passage. As soon as I w.\s master uf nine 
guineas, the price of wafting me to the torrid zone, I 
look a steerage passage in the first ship that was to sail 
from the Clyde, for, 

" Hungry ruin hud me in the wind. 
" I had been for some days skulking from covert to 
covert, under all the terrors of a jail ; as some ill-advis- 
ed people had uncoupled the merciless pack of the law 
at my heels. I had taken the last farewell of my fe\^ 
friends; my chest was on the road to Greenock, I had 
composed the last song I should ever measure in Cale- 
rlonia, The ghomy night is i^a t her i n^ fast ^ when a letter 



( XX ) 

from Dr. Blacklock to a friend of mine, overthrew all 
my schemes, by opening new prospects to my poetic 
ambition/ The doctor belonged to a set of critics, for 
whose applause I had not dared to hope. His opinion^ 
that I would meet with encouragement in Edinburgh 
for a second edition, fired me so much, that away I 
posted for that city, without a single acquaintance, or a 
single letter of introduction. The baneful star that had 
so long shed its blasting influence in my zenith, for 
once made a revolution to the Nadir; and a kind provi- 
dence placed me under the patronage of one of the no- 
blest of men, the Earl of Glencairn. Oublic moij grand 
Dieuy si jamais je V oubliel" 

The following part of the narrative, is chiefly taken 
from the letter of Gilbert Burns to Mrs. Dunlop. 

Robert Burns was born on the 29th day of January, 
1759, in a small house about two miles from the town 
of Ayr, and within a few hundred yards of Alloway 
Church, which his poem of Tamo" Chanter has rendered 
immortal. The name which the poet and his brother 
modernized into Burns, was oric:inalJy Burnes or Bur- 
ness. Their father, William Barnes, was the son of a 
farmer in Kincardineshire, and had received the edu- 
cation common in Scotland to persons in his condition 
of life ; he could read and v. rite, and had some know- 
ledge of arithmetic. His family having fallen into re- 
duced ciiTumstances, he was compelled to leave his 
home in his nineteenth year, and turn his steps towards 
the south, in quest of a livelihood. " I have often heard 
my father," says Gilbert Burns, in his letter to Mrs. 
Dunlop, " describe the anguish of mind he felt when 
they parted on the top of a hillj on the confines of their 
native place, each going off his several way in search of 
new adventures, and scarcely knowing whither he went. 
My father undertook to act as a gardener, and shaped 
his course to Edinburgh, where he wrought hard when 
he could get work, passing through a variety of diffi- 
culties. Still however he endeavoured to spare some- 
thing for the support of his aged parent." 

From Edinburgh he passed westward into the county 



( xxi ) 

of Ayr. At lenj:;th being desirous of settling in life, he 
took a pcrpcUuil lease of seven acres of land from Dr. 
Campbell, physician in Ayr, with the view of comm.n- 
cing nursery man and pul)lic gardener; and having 
built a house upon it, with his own hands, married, in 
December, 1757, Agnes Brown, the mother cjf oxr po- 
et. The first fruit of this marriap:e, was Robert, the 
subject of these memoirs. Before William Burns had 
made much progress in preparing his nurseiy, he was 
withdrawn from that undertaking, by Mr. Ferguson, of 
Doonhohn, in the immediate neighbourhood, who en- 
gaged him as his gardener and overseer He still, 

h'oweviT lived in his own house ; this was his situation 
when Robert was born. He afterwards rented a farm 
of eighty acres on the same estate. 

Mr. Ferguson, is stated in our poet's letter, to h?.ve 
been a generous benefactor to his father. He died, and 
the estate fell into the hands of a factor, who, the poet 
says, " sat for the picture I have drawn of one, in my 
Tale ofTiva Dogs.'" " To the buffetings of misfortune, 
we could only oppose hard labour and the most rigid e- 
conomy. We lived very sparingly. For several yearji 
butcher's meat was a stranger in the house, while all 
the members of the family exerted themselves to the 
utmost of their strength, and rather beyond it, in the 
labours of the farm. My brother at the age of thirteen 
assisted in threshing the crop of corn, and at fifteen, 
"wa'i the principal ^labourer on the farm, for we had no 
hired servant, mule or female. The anguish of muid we 
felt at our tender years, under these straits and difficul- 
ties, was very great. To think of our father growing old 
(for he was now above fifty) broken down with the long 
continued fatigues of his life, with a wife and five other 
chi'.'.lren, and in a declining state of circumstances, 
thfjj reflections produced in my brother's mind and 
miiVv; sensations of the deepest distress. I doubt not but 
the hard labour and sorrow of this period of his life, was, 
in a great measure, the cause of that depression of spir- 
its with which Robert was so often afflicted through hia 
whole life afterwards. At this time he was almost con- 
fitantly afHicted in thtj evenings with a dull head-aqhe, 



( xxii ) 

>Vhich at a future period of his life, was exchanged ibr 
a palpitation of the heart, and a threatening of fainting 
ami suffociition in his bed, in the night-time. 

" At the expiration of my father's lease, he took the 

farm of Lochlea in the parish of Tarbolton, of Mr. , 

then a merchant in Ayr, !ifterwards a merchant in Liv- 
erpool. It was here his misfortunes were consummated, 
and where he died on the 13th of February, ITSi 

**Kobert, in his sixth year, was sent to a school about 
amiledistant^kt'ptby John Murdoch : with him he learn- 
ed to read and MTite, and made some proficiency in the 
English grammar: some years afterwards he also stu- 
died a little of the Latin and some French. 

" The s-'vcn years we lived in Tarbolton parish (ex- 
tending from the seventeenth to the twenty-fourth of 
my hrotlier's age) were not marked by much literary 
improvement ; but dvu'ing this time, the foundation 
was laid of certain habits in my brother's character, 
which afterv/ards became but too prominent, and M'hich 
malice and envy have taken delight to enlarge on. 
Though wlien young he was bashful and xukward in 
his intercourse M'ith women, yet when he approached 
manhood, his attachment to their society became very 
strong, and he was constantly the victim of some fair 
enslaver. 

*' As these connections were governed by the strictest 
rules of vi, tue and modesty (from which he never devi- 
ated till he reached his 23d year) he became anxious 
to be in a situation to marry. 

" Towards the end of the period under review (in his 
34th year) he became a free«mason, which was his first 
introduction to the life of a boon-companion. Yet not- 
withstanding these circumstances, and the praise he 
has bestowed on Scotch drink (which sterns to have 
misled his historians) I do not recollect, during these 
seven years, nor till towards the end of his commencing 
author (when his growing celebrity occasioned his be- 
ing often ill company) to have ever seen him intoxica- 
ted, nor Mas he at all given to drinking. 

" When my father's affairs drew near a crisis, Ro- 
bert and I took the farm of Mossgiel, consisting of 1 IS 



XXill ) 

lucres, at tlie rent of^f 90 per annum,) the farm on which 
1 live at present,) from Mr. Gavin Hamilton, as an 
asylum for the family in case of the worst. It was stock- 
ed by the property and individual savings of the whole 
family, and was a joint concern among us. Every mem- 
ber of tlie family was allowed oidinary wages for thei 
labour he performed on the farm. My brother's allow- 
ance and mine was seven pounds per annum each. And 
during tlie whole time this family concern, lasted, which 
was four years, as well as during tlie preceding period 
at Lochlea, his expences never in any one year exceed- 
td his slender income. 

" The first four years we lived on this farm, owing to 
the wetness of the soil and late springs, our crops pro- 
ved unprofitable ; we were therefore obliged to give up 
our bargain with the loss of a considerable part of our 
original stock. It was during these four years that Ro- 
bert formed his connexion with Jean Armour, after- 
wards Mrs. Burns. This connexion could no io?iger 6e 
CQHceakd^ about the time we came to a final determina- 
tion to quit the farm. Robert durst not engage with a 
family in the way he was circumstanced ; but anxious 
to shield his partner from the consequence of their im- 
prudence, they agreed, between themselves, to make a 
legal acknowledgement of an irregular and piivate mar- 
riage, that he should go to Jamaica to push his foitune, 
and that she should remain with her father, till it might 
please providence to put the means of supporting a fa- 
mily in his power. 

" Mrs. Burns was a great favourite of ht*r father's. 
The intimation of a private marriage was the first sug- 
-gestion he received of her real situation. He was in 
the greatest distress and fainted away. Tlie marriage 
did not appear to him to make the matter any better. 
A husband in Jamaica appeared to him and to Lis wife 
little better than none, and an effectual bar to any oth- 
er prospects of a settlement in life tliat their ddughter 
might have. They therefore expressed a wish to her, 
that the written papers which respected the marriage 
sl.ou'd be cancelled, and thus the marriage rendered 
\-Did. Th^ir wikh was raentioned to Robert, He fdt 



C xxiv ) 

ihc deepest anguish of mind. He offered to stay ^.i 
home and provide for his wife and family in the best 
manner that his daily labours could provide for them ; 
that being the only means in his power. Even this of- 
fer they did not approve of. Robert at length consent- 
ed to their wishes. But his feelings on this occasion 
were of the most distracting nature, and the impression 
of sorrow was not effaced, till by a regular mairiage 
they were indissolubly united."* 

He Mas advised by Mr. Hamilton, to publish an edi- 
tion of his poems by subscription, as a likely method of 
getting a little money to pro\ide himself more liberally 
in necessaries for his voyage. The reception which 
his poems met with in the world, and the friends thty 
procured him, induced him to change his resolution of 
going to Jamaica, instead of which he went to Edin- 
burgh, where he published another edition. 

Having settled with his publisher, Mr. Creech, in 
February, 1788, Burns found himself master of nearly 
five hundred pounds, after discharging all his expen- 
ces. Two liundred pounds he immediately advanced 
to his brother (iilbert, who had taken upon himself the 
support of their ap:ed mother, and was struggling with 
many diflicuUies in the farm of Mossgiel. He then 
took from Mr. Milkr of Dalswinton the farm of Elhs- 
land, on the baiiks of the river Nith, six miles above 
Dumfries, on which he entered on Whitsunday, 1T88. 

Whilst he lived at Ellisland, he was appointed an ex- 
cise officer, with a salary of ;f 50 per ann. — After hav- 
jn"g- lived three years and a half at this place, he foun ! it 
necessary to give up the farm- and selling off his sto.k, 
removed to Dumfries in 1791. — His salary (from the 
excise) now amoilnted to about /'70 per annum. He 
remained in this situation till his death, which took place 
on the 2 1st of Tn]v, rr96, and was interred on the 26th, 
with military honors. 

• In papre iQ the poet mentions his skulking from covrrt to 
** covert, under terror of a jail. "....The '* pack of the law** 
were " uncoupled .-\t his heels," to oblig-e him \o find secu- 
yity for the maintoi'' ncc of hisjwin-children. whom he wa* 
not permitted to Ug-itimJitc by a marriag-c witJi Uieir mother ! 



POEMS, 

CHIEFLY 

3C0TTISH. 

ri „ : I * 

THE TWA DOGS: 
J TALK, 



'TWAS in that place o* Scotland's isle, 
That bears the name o* Auld King Coily 
Upon a bonie day in June, 
When wearing thro' the aftemoon, 
Twa Dogs that were nr\ ihrans^ at hamc) 
ForgatherM ance upon a time. 

The first 1*11 name, they ca'd him Canar^ 
Was keepit for his Honor's pleasure: 
His hair, his size, his mouth, his lugs, 
Shew'd he was nane o* Scotland's dogs ; 
B\it whalpit some place far abroad, 
Where sailor's gang to fish for Cod. 

His locked, lctter*d, braw biass collar^ 
Shew'd him the gentleman and scholar: 
Btil though he was o' high degree, 
The ficnta pride, na pride had he; 
But wad hae spent an hour caressln, 
Ev'n wi' a tinkler-gypsey's messin: 
At kirk or market, mill or smiddie, 
Nac tawted tyke, tho* e'er sae duddic, 



( 2 ) 

But he wad stan*t, as glad to see him, 
An' stroan't on stanes an* hillocks wi* him. 

The tither was a ploughman's collie, 
A rhyming, ranting, raving billie, 
Wha for his friend and comrade had him, 
And in his freaks had Luath ca'd him, 
After some dog in Highland sang,* 
Was made lang syne— Lord knows how lang. 

He was a gash an' faitkfu' tyke, 
As ever lap a sheugh or dyke, 
His honest, sonsic, baws'nt face, 
Ay gat him friends in ilka place. 
His breast was white, his towzic back 
Wecl clad wi' coat o* glossy black; 
His gaucie tail, wi* upward curl, 
Hung owre his hurdies wi* a swirl. 

Nae doubt but they were fain o'ither. 
An* unco* pack, an* thick thegither ; 
Wi' social nose whyles snuff'd an* snowkit, 
Whyles mice an* mioudieworts they howkitj 
Whyles scour'd awa in lang excursion, 
An* worry'd ithcr in diversion; 
Until wi* daffin weary grown, 
Upon a knowe they sit them down, 
And there began a lang digression 
About the loi-ds o* the creation. 

C^SAK. 

Tve aften wonder'd, honest Luathy 
"VVhat sort o* life poor dogs like you have^ 
An* when the gentry*s life I saw. 
What way poor bodies liv*d avu. 

Our Laird gets in his racked rents, 
(lis coals, his kain, an' a*. his stents; 

* Cuchullin*8 dog in OssUn*8 Fingah 



( 3 ) 

He rises when he likes himsel ; 

His flunkies answer at the bell ; 

He ca's his coach, he ca*s his horse ; 

He draws a bonie silken purse, 

As lang's my tail, whare, thro' the steel^S, 

The yellow lettered Geordie k'jcks. 

Frae mom to e'en It's nought but toiling* 
At baking, roasting, frying, boiling ; 
An' tho* the gentry first are stechin. 
Yet cv'n the ha' folk fill their pechan 
Wi' sauce, ragouts, and siclike trashtri^, 
That's little short o* downright wastrie, 
Our Whipper-in, wee, blastit wonner, 
Poor, worthless elf, it eats a dinner, 
fetter than ony tenant man 
His Honor has in a* the Ian*: 
An' what poor cot-folk pit their painch jji, 
I own it's past my comprehension. 

LUATH. 

Trowth Casar, whyles their fash't enough ; 
A cotter howkin in a sheugh, 
Wi' dirty stanes biggin a dyke. 
Baring a quarry an' siclike, 
Himsel, a wife, he thus sustains, 
A smyti-ie o' wee duddic weans. 
An* nought but his han' darg, to keep 
Them right an* tight in thack an' rape. 

An' »vhen they meet wi' sair disaster^. 
Like loss o* health, or want o* masters. 
Ye maist wad think, a wee touch langer, 
An' they mauji starve o* cauld and hunger ; 
But, how it comes, I never kend yet. 
They're maistly wonderfu' contented ; 
An' buirdly chiels, an* clever hizzie^i 
Arc bred in sic a way as this isr. 



( 4 ) 

Hut then, to see how ye're negleckit, 
How hiiff'd, an* cuiTd, an* disrespeckit I 
L — d, man^ our genirv care as little 
For dclvers, ditchers, an* sic cattle ; 
They gang as saucy by poor foik, 
As 1 wad by a stinking brock. 

lT*e noticed, on our Laird's court-day, 
An* mony a time my heart*s been wae, 
Poor tenant bodies, scant o* cash, 
How they maun thole a factor's snash : 
He'll stamp an' threaten, curse an' swear. 
He'll apprehend them, poind their gear ; 
While they maun stan*, wi* aspect humble, 
An* hear it a*, an' fear an* tremble I 

I see how folk live that hae riches ; 
But surely poor folk maun be wretches 1 

LV4TH. 

They're no so wretched's ane wad think; 
Tho' constantly on poortith's brink. 
They're sae accustom'd wi* the sight, 
The view o't gics them little fright. 

Then chance and fortune are sae guided, 
They'i'e ay in less or mair provided ; 
An' tho' fatigu'd wi' close employment, 
A blink o' rest's a sweet enjoyment. 

The dearest comfort o* their lives. 
Their grushie weans an' faithfu' wives ; 
The prattling things are just their pride, 
That sweetens a' their fire-side. 

An* wh> les twalpennic worth o* nappy 
Can mak the bodies unco happy ; 
They lay aside their priN-ate cares. 
To mind the Kirk and Stale affairs : 



( 5 ) 

They'll talk o* patronage an' priest, 
Wi* kindling fury i* their breasts, 
Or tell what new taxation's comin, 
An* fcrlie at the folk in London, 

As blcak-facM Hallowmas returnjj) 
Thay get the jovial, rantin Kirns, 
When rural lifr^ of ev*fy station, 
Unite in common recreation ; 
Love blinks, Wit slaps, an* social Mirth, 
Forgets there*s Care upo* the earth. 

That merry day tlic ye\r begins,"* 
They bar the door on frosty winds ; 
The nappy reeks wi* mantling ream, 
An* sheds a hcart-inspirmg steam ; 
The luntin pipe, an* sneeshin mill» 
Arc handed roiin* wi* right guid will; 
The canlie auld folks crackin crouse, 
The young anes rantin* thro* the house,*** 
My heart has been sae fain to see them. 
That I for joy hae barkit wi* them. 

Still it*s owre true that ye hae said, 
Sic game is now owre aften play'd. 
There*s monic a creditable stock 
O' decent, honest, fawsont folk, 
Are riven out baith root an' branch, 
Some rascars pridefu* greed to quench, 
Wha thinks to knit himsel tiie faster 
In favour wi' some gentle Master, 
Wha aiblins, thrang a parliamentin, 
For Britain's guid his soul indenlin- 

C^SAR. 

Haith, lad, ye little ken about it; 
For Britain's i;uid ! guid faith ! I doubt it. 
Say rather, gaun as Pmniirs lead him, 
An* saying aijc or no's they bid him : 
B 2 



( 6 ) 

At operas an* plays paradinj^:, 
Morti^aging, gambling-, masquerading* 
Or may be, in a frolit daft. 
To ffa/s^ut' or Caiaia taks a waft, 
1\> niak a tour, an' tak a whirl, 
To learn f>o7i tun an* sec the worl* : 

TiuMc, at Vienna or VcrsaiUrs^ 
He rives his fatlu'r's uuld entails j 
Or by Madrid he taks the iX)Ut, 
To thrum guitars, an' ftrcht \vi' nowt ; 
Or down Italian vista startles, 
AMi— re— hunting: amani;- p^roves o* myrtles 
Then bouses drumlie CkM'man water, 
To mak himsel hike fair an' flxtter, 
An' elear the conseciue.itial sorrows, 
Love-^ifts of Carnival sii^nioras. 
For Ihifain*s fi^uid / for her destruction ! 
WV dissipation feud, an* faction. 

LUATH. 

llech man I dear sirs ! is that the gate 
They waste sat- mony a hraw estate! 
Are We sae Ibui;hten an' harrass'd 
For gear to gain; ll.at gate at last ! 

O would they stay aback frae courts, 
An' please themsels wi* countra sports, 
U wad for ev'ry ane be better, 
Ihe Laird, the 'I'enant, an* the Cotter 1 
For time frank, rant in, ramhlin billies, 
Mem haet o* thcn\*s ill-hearted fellows ; 
Except for breakin o* their timmer, 
Or s|)eakin lij4;htly o* their limnur, 
Or shootin o* a hare or moor-cock. 
The ne*era bit they're ill to poor folk. 

Init will ye tell mc. Master C.vs.r-, 
Sure k^ix'at folk's life's a lite o' pleasure ? 



( t ) 

Nae cauld nor bunp^er e'er can steer them, 
Tiie vcru tliou^ht o't need na fear thein. 

CASAR. 

I^ — d, man, -were ye but wbyles wharc I ami 
TJie gentles ye wad ne'er envy 'em. 

It's true, thty need na starve or sweat, 
Thro* winter's cauld, or simmer's heat ; 
They've nae sair wark to craze their banefa, 
An' fill auld ap:e wi' }>^rips an' granes : 
But human bodies are sic fools, 
For a' their colleges an' schools, 
That when nae real ills perplex them, 
They mak enow themselves to vex them '; 
An' ay the less they hae to sturt them, 
In like proportion less will hurt them. 
A country fellow at the plcuji;h, 
His acre's till'd, he's ri^bt eneugh ; 
A country e:irl at her wheel, 
Iler dizzen's done, she's unco weel : 
But Cientlemen an' Ladies AVarst, 
Wi' ev'ndown want o' wark are curst. 
They loiter, lounpinp;, lank, an' lazy ; 
Tho' deil haet ails them, yet uneasy ; 
Tlu'ir days insipid, dull, an' tasteless ; 
1'lieir nights luifjuiet, lan^;;, an' restless ; 
An' even their sports, tiieir bails, an* races, 
Their j-^allowpint^ thro' public places, 
There's sic parade, sic pomp, an' art, 
The joy can scarcely reach the heart. 
Tlie men cast out in party matches, 
'i'lien sowther a' in deep debauclies ; 
Ac nip;ht they're mad wi' drink an' wh-rlng, 
Nicst day their life is past enduring. 
The Ladies arm-in-arm in clusters. 
As j^^'eat an' j^racious a' as sisters ; 
Bui hear their absent thouj^htso* ithcr, 
Tiiey're a* run dcils an' jads the^ither. 



( a ) 

Whyles, owfe the ^ee bit cup an* platic, 
They sip the scandal potion pretty ; 
Or lee-lang nights, wi' crabbit leuks, 
Pore owre the devirs pictured beuks ; 
Slake on a chance a farmer's stackyard, 
An* cheat lil^e onie imhang*d blackguard. 

. There's some exceptions, man an* woman ; 
But this is Gentry's life in common. 
By this the sun was out o* sight, 
An* darker gloamin brought the night : 
The bum-clock humm'd wi* lazy drone ; 
The kye stood rowtin i* the loan ; 
When up they gat, and shook their lugs. 
Reioic*d they were na men^ but dogs ; 
An* each took aff his several way, 
Resolv'd to meet some ither day. 



SCOTCH DRINK. 

Gie him strong drink^ until he winkt 

That* 6 sinking in desfiair ; 
An"* liquor guidtojire his bluid. 

Tnafs preet xoi* grief arC care ; 
There let him bouse ^ an* deep, carouse^ 

Wi* bumpers Jioiving o^er^ 
Till he forgets his loves or debts, 

jin* minds his griefs no more. 

Solomon's Proverbs, xxxi. 6. 7. 

LET other Poets raise a fracas 
'Bout vines, an' wines, an' drunken Bacchus^ 
An' crabbit names an' stories wrack us, 

An* grate our lug, 
I sing the juice Scots bear can mak us. 
In glass or jug. 

O thou, my Mus^! guid auld Scotch Drink i 
Whether thro* wimpling worms tbou jiHfe) 



( 9 ) 

Or, richly brown, reaTn o'er the brink, 
In glorious faem, 

Inspire me, till I lisp an* wink, 

To sing thy name ! 

Let husky wheat the haugha adorn, 
An' Aits set up their awnie horn, 
An* Pease an* Beans, at e*en or morn, 

Perfume the plain, 
Lceze me on thee, John Barleycorny 

Thou king o* grain I 

On thee aft Scotland chows her cood. 
In souple scones, the wale o' food ? 
Or tumbling in the boiling flood 

VVi' kail an* beef; 
But when thou pours thy strong heart's blood, 

There thou shines chief. 

Food fills the wame, an* keeps us livin ; 
Tho* life's a gift no worth receivin, 
When heavy-dragg'd wi* pine an* grievin ; 

But, oil'd by thee, 
The wheels o' life, gae down-hill scrievin, 
Wi* rattlin glee. 

Thou clears the head o' doited Lear ; 
Thou cheers the heart o' drooping Care ; 
Thou strings the nerves o' Labor sair, 

At's weary toil ; 
Thou even brightens dark Despair 

Wi' gloomy smilp. 

Aft clad in massy siller weed, 
Wi' Gentles thou erects thy head ; 
Yet ];umbly kind in time o* need, 

The poor man's wii^j 
His wee drap parritch, or his bread. 

Thou kitchen's fine. 



( 10 ) -.3 

Th#u art the life o* public haunts ; 
But thee, what were our fairs and rants? 
Ev*n godly meetings o' the saunts, 

By thee inspired) 
When gaping they besiege the tents 

Are doubly fir*d. 

That merry night we get the com in, 
O sweetly then thou reams the horn 'mi 
Or reekin on a New-year morning 

In cog or bicker) 
^* just a wee drap sp*ritual burn in, 

An' gusty sucker t 

When Vulcan gies his bellows breath, 
An* ploughmen gather wi' their graith, 
O rare ! to see the fizz an* freath 

r th' Iuu:get caupt 
Then Burnewin* comes on like death, 
At ev'ry chap. 

Nae mercy, then, for airn or steel ; 
Thebrawnie, bainie, ploughman, chiel, 
Brings hard owrehip, wi' sturdy wheel, 

The strong forehammiti:, 
Till block an' studdie ring an* reel 

Wi' dinsome clamour. 

When skirlin weanies see the light, 
Thou maks the gossips clatter bright, 
How fumblin cuifs their dearies slight; 

Wae worth the namec) 
Nae howdie gets a social night, 

Or plack frac them. 

When neebors anger at a plea, 
An* just as wud as wud can be, 

* Bumewin — Burn-the wind— /Ae Blackimth-^n 
ufifirofiriate title. £ 



i " > 

How easy can the barley-brie 

Cement the qtiarrel^i 
It's aye the cheapest lawyer's fee, 

To taste the barrel- 

Alake ! that e'er my Muse has reaso* 
To wyte her countrymen wi' treason! 
But monie daily weet their wcason 

Wi' liquors nice, 
An hardly, in a winter's season, 

E'er spier her price. 

Wae worth that brandy, buminjj trash! 
Fell source o' monie a pain an* brash I 
Twins monie a poor, doylt, dmnken hash^ 

O' half his days; 
An* sends, beside, auld Scotland's cash 

To her warst faes. 

Ye Scots, wha wish auld Scotland well! 
Ye chief, to you my tale I tell, 
Poor plackless devils like mysel I 

It sets you ill, 
Wi* bitter, dearthfu' wines to mell, 

Or foreign gill. 

May gravels round his blather wrench, 
An* gouts torment him inch by inch, 
Wha twist his gruntle wi' a glunch 

O* sour disdain, 
Out owre a glass o' Whisky punch 

Wi* honest men I 

O Whinky I soul o' plays an* pranks t 
Accept a Bardie's gratefu' thanks! 
When wanting thee, what tuneless cranks 
Are my poor verses \ 
Thou c^m eo tliey rattle i' their ranks 
At ither's a — s ! 



f 12 ) 

Thcc, Ft^rintosh I O sadly lost! 
Scotland lament irae coast to coast! 
No w colic grips, an* barkin hoaat, 

May kill us a* 
For loyal Forbes' chartcr'd boast 
Is ta'en swal 

Thae curst horse-leeches o' th* Excise) 
Wha mak the IMuakij At ells their prize ! 
Haud up thy ban*, Deil ! ance, twice, thrice! 

There, seize the blinker* 1 
An* bake them up inbrunstanc pies 

Foi poor d— nM drinkers* 

Fortune! if thou'Il but gie me still 
Hale breeks, a scone, an' Whisky gill, 
^^\* rowth o' rhyme to rave at will, 

Tak' a' the rest, 
An* de«rt about as thy blind skill 

Directe thee best. 



( 13 ) 
THE AUTHOTl's 

EARNEST CRY AND PRAYER,* 

To the Scotch He/iresentatives, in the House of Com- 
mona. 

Df'are.sf of Diatillatioji ! lant and best I 
.. ■ ■ Hoiv art thou lofst /— — 

Parody on Miltoti 

YE Irish Lords, ye Knipjbts an* Squires, 
Wba rrfirty.cnt our brughs an* shires, 
An* doucely manngc oiu' affairs 

In parliament, 
To you a simple Poet's prayers 

Are humbly sent. 

Alasl. my ''oupct Muse is l)earse! 
Voiu' honors hearts wi' grief *t\vad pierce, 
To see her sittin on her a 

Low i' the dust, 
An' scriechen out prosaic verse, 
An' like to brust ! 

Tell them wha hae the chief direction, 
Srorluvd an' vv 's in great affliction, 
E'er sin' they laid that cursl restriction 

On A luaviftc; 
\n' rouse them up to strong conviction, 
An' move their piiy. 
Stand forth, an* tell yon Premier Youth 
I'lie honest, open, naked truth: 



* This Kuaa ivritten b fore the act anent the Scotch 
U IK tiller ievy of ttes.Hon 1786; fir which Scotland and the 
iuthor return their moat grateful thonAs. 



C u ) 

Tell him o' mine an' Scotland's drouth, 
His servant's humble : 

The muckle devil blaw ye south, 
If ye dissemble! 

Does ony great man glunch an* gloom? 
Speak out, an' never fash your thumb! 
Let posts an' pensions sink or soom 

Wi' them wha grant 'em : 
If honestly they canna come. 

Far better want 'em. 

In gath'rin votes you were na slack ; 
Now stand as tightly by your tack ; 
Ne'er claw your lug, an' fidgc your back^ 

An' hum an' haw; 
But raise your arm, an' tell your crack 
Before them a'. 

Paint Scotland greeting owre her thrissle ; 
Her mutchkin stoup as toom's a whisslc ; 
An* d-mn-d Excisemen in a bussle, 

Seizin a Str/l^ 
Tritimphant crushin't like a mussel 

Or lampit shell. 

Then on the tilher hand present her, 
A blackguard Snuiggler right behint her. 
An' cheek for chow, a chuffie Vintner, 

Colleaguing join, 
Picking her pouch as bare as winter. 
Of a' kind coin. 

Is there, that bears the name o' »^ro.\ 
But feels his heart's bluid rising hot, 
To see his poor auld Mither's //rr, 

Thus dung in staves, 
An' plunder'd o' her hindmost groat 

By gallows knaves ? 

Alas ! I'm but a nameless wight, 
Trode i' the mire out o* sight ! 
But could I like Mont^07neriefi fight, 
(^r gab like BosvjoU^ 



i 15 ) 

There's some sark-necks I wad draw tij^ht. 
An' tie some hose well. 

God bless your Honors, can ye see't. 
The kind, auld, cantic Carlin greet, 
An* no get warmly to your feet, 

An* gar them hear it, 
An* tell them wi' a patriot heat, 

Ye winna bear it I 

Some o' you nicely ken the laws? 
To round tJie period an' pause. 
An' vvi* rhetoric clause on clause 

To mak haranj^^ues; 
Then echo thro' Saint Stephen's vva's 

Auld Scotland's wrangs. 

Deir.fistcr^ a true blue Scot I'sc war ran t 
Thee, aith-detestir.g, chaste K'Ukn-ran* ; 
An' that glib-gabbit Highland Baron, 

The Laird o' G'-aham^ j 
An' ane, a chap that's d-mn'd auldfarran, 
Dundas his name. 

Erfikin€„ a spunkie Norland billie ; 
True Campbell.s, Prcdrrick an' Huxj ; 
An' Livin^Htonc^ the bauld Sir WiUie i 

An' monic ithers, 
Whom auld Demosthenes or Tully 

Might own for brithcrs. 
Arouse, my boys 1 exert your mettle, 
To get auld Scotland back her keltic ; 
Or faith 1 I'll wad my new plcugh-pcttle, 

Ye'll see't ere lang, 
Slie'll teach you, wi* a reekin whittle, 

Anithcr sang. 

This while she's been in crankous mood, 
Her lost ^niitm fir'd her blude ; 
CDiel na they never mair do gude, 

Play'd her that pliskie ! ) 

* Sir Adam Ferguson. E. 

\ 'I he t^retent Duke of Montrose, £. 



( 16 ) 

An* now she's like to rin rcd-wud 

About her Whisky^ 

An* L — d, if ance they pit her till' t, 
Her tartan petticoat she'll kilt, 
An' durk an' pistol at her belt, 

She'll tak the streets, 
An* rin her Whittle to the hilt. 

I' th' first she meets I 

For G— d sake, Sirs ! then speak her fair. 
An* straik her cannie wi' the hair, 
An* to the muckle house repair, 

Wi' instant speed, 
An' strire, -wi* a' your wit an' lear, 
'loget remead. 
Yon ill-tongu'd tinkler, Charlie Fox^ 
May taunt you wi' his jeers an' mocks j 
But gie him't het, my hearty cocks 1 

E'en cowe the caddie ! 
An' send him to his dicing box 

An' sporting lady. 

Tell yon gude blude o' auld Boconnock^s^ 
V\\ be his debt twa mashlum bannocks. 
An' drink his health in auld A^anse Tinnock^s* 

Nine times a-week, 
If he some scheme, like tea an' winnocks 

Wad kindly seek. 

Could he some commutation broach, 
I'll pledge my aith in gude braid Scotch? 
He need na fear their foul reproach 

Nor erudition. 
Yon mixtie-maxtie, queer hotch-potch,. 

The Ccalition. 

Auld Scotland has a raucle tongue j 
She's just a devil wi' a rung ; 

* A worthy old Hostess of the Author* s in Mauchline, 
where he sometimes studies Politics over a glass of gude 
auld Scotch Drink. 



( 17 -) 

An* if she promise auld or young 
To tak their part, 

Tho* by the neck she should be strung;, 
She*ll no desert. 

An* now, ye chosen Five-and-Forty, 
May still your Mither's heart support ye 
Then though a minister grow dorty, 

An* kick your place, 
Ye'll snap your fingers, poor an* hearty, 

Beifore his face. 

God bless your Honors a' your days, 
Wi' sowps o* kail and brats o* claise, 
In spite o* a' the thievish kaes, 

That haunt St. Ja?nie*s J 
Your humble Poet sings an* prays 

While Bab his name is,. 



POSTSCRIPT. 

LET half-Starv*d slaves in warmer skie$', 
See future wines, rich-clust*ring rise j 
Their lot auld Scotland ne*er envies, 

Rut blythe and frisky, 
She eyes her freeborn, martial boys 

Tak aff their Whisky. 

What tho* their Phosbus kinder warms, 
While fragrance blooms and beauty charms i 
When wretches range, in famish'd swarms, 

The scented groves, 
Or hounded forth, dishonor arms 

In hungry droves. 

Their gun*s a burden on their shouther^ 
They downa bide the stink o' powther ; 
Their bauldest tliought's a hank'ring swither 

To Stan' or rin, 
Till skelp— a shot — they're aff, a* throwthcr, 

To save their skin. 



( 1« > 

fiut brin^ u Scotsman frae his hill, 
Clap in his cheek a llij^hland j^ill, 
Say, such is royal (u-orj^e's will, 

An' there's the foe, 
He lias nae thou'j ht but how to kill 
Tvva nt a blow. 

Nae caukl, faint-hearted doubtinj^s tease him 
Death comes, wi' fearless eye he sees him ; 
\Vi' bluidy han* a welcome gies him 
An' when he li\'s. 
His latest draught o' brcathin lea'es him 
In faint huzzas. 

Sag;es their solemn een may stcek, 
An* raise a philosophic reek, 
An' physically causes seek. 

In clime and season j 
But tell me Uliisku*s name in Greek, 

I'll tell the reason. 
Scoflaiid, my auld respected Mither I 
Tiio' whiles ye moistify your leather, 
Till whare ye sit, on craps o' heather, 

Ye tine your dam ; 
Freedom and whhku gan?;- thegither, 

Tak aft' your dram 1 



THE HOLY FAIR.* 

,i robe officrming truth and trust 

Hid craftij OdfierTarioT; ; 
And aecrtt hung, tcith /i(Jfio7i\i crusty 

The dirk' of l<famaficn : 
A mask (ha* likt the gorgrt shcvf\ly 

£)ifr'Varying„ on the pigeon ; 
And for a ymiutle large and broody 

He Hvra/H him in Religion. 

Hypocrisy a-la^mode. 

* Holy Fair is a comjnon fihrasc in the West q/ Scot 
:dfcr a sacramental occasion. 



( 19 ) 

I. 

UPON a simmer Sunday morn, 

When nature's face is fair, 
I walked foi'tlj to view the corn, 

An* snuff the caller air. 
The risint^ sun owrc GalH(on muirs, 

Wi' j^lori<.»us hi^ht was ^lentin ; 
The hares were hiipHn down the furs, 

The lav'rocks they were ciiantin 
Fu* sweet that day. 

II. 

As li^htsomely I glowp'd abroad, 

To see a scene sae gay, 
Three Hizzies early at the road, 

Cam skelpin up the way ; 
Twa had mantecles o' dolcfu' black, 

But ane wi' lyart lining ; 
The third, that gaed a-wee aback, 

Was in the fasluon shining, 
Fu* gay that day. 
III. 

The tnva appear'd like sisters twin, 

In feature, form an* clacs ! 
Their visage wither'd, lang an' thin, 

An' sour as ony slaes ; 
The third cam up, hap-step-an'-lowp, 

As light as ony Iambic, 
An* wi' a curchie low did stoop, 

As soon as e'er she saw me, 
Fu* kind that day. 

IV. 

Wi' bonnet aff, quoth I, * Sweet lass, 
* I think ye seem to ken me ; 

' I'm sure I've seen that bonie face, 
' But yet I canna name ye.' 

Quo' she, an' laughin as she spak-, 
An' taks me by the hands. 



( 20 ) 

* Ye for my sake, hae gi'en the feck 

< Of a* the ten commands 

^ A screed some day* 

V. 

*'My name is Ftm — your cronie deaff 

* The nearest friend ye hae ; 

* An' this is Sufierstition here, 

' An* that's Hypocrisy. 
I'm gaun to ***♦***» Holy Fairy 

* To spend an hour in daffin : 

* Gin ye'll jj^ there, yon ruvikl'd paii'> 

* We will get famous laughin 

* At them this day.' 

VI. 

Quoth I, < Wi' a' my heart, I'll do't; 

* I'll get my Sunday's sark on, 

* An' meet you on the holy spot ; 

' Faith we'se hae fine remarkin I* 
Then I gaed hame at crowdic-time 

An' soon I made tne ready ; 
For roads were clad, fi ae side to side, 

Wi' monie a weary bodie, 

In droves that day. 

VII. 

Here, farmers gash, in ridin graith, 

Gaed hoddin by their cotters ; 
There swankies young, in braw braid-claitli, 

Are springin owre the gutters. 
The lasses, skelpin barefit, thrang, 

In silks an* scarlets glitter ; 
Wi' snvtet'imlk cheese^ in monie a whang, 

Au*Jarls bak'd wi' butter, 

Fu* crump that day. 

VIII. 

When by the /ilate we set our nose, 

Weel heapit up wi' ha'pence, 
A greedy glowr Black Bonnet thrown, 

An' we maun draw our tippence. 



( 21 > 

Then in we go to see the show, 

On ev'ry side they're gath*rin, 
Some carrying^ dales, some chairs an* stools, 

An* some are busy bleth'rm, 

Right loud that day. 

IX. 

Here stands a shed to fend the show'rs, 

An* screen our couutra Gentry, 
There racer Jess, an* twa-lhree wh--»*.res, 

Are blinkin at the entry. 
Here sits a raw o* tittlin jades, 

Wi* heaving breast, and bare neck, 
An* there a badge o* wabster lads, 

Blackguarding: frae Kilmarnoc, 
Y or fun this day. 

X. 

Here some are thinkin on their sins, 

An* some upo' their claes ; 
Ane curses feet that fyFd his shins,. 

Anither sighs an* prays : 
On this hand sits a chosen swatch, 

Wi* screw*d up grace-proud faces; 
On that a set o* chaps at watch. 

Thrang winkin on the lasses 

To chairs that day. 

XI. 

O happy is that man, an* blest ! 

Nae wonder that it pride him ! 
Wha's ain dear lass, that he likes best. 

Comes clinkin down beside him ! 
Wi* arm repos'd on the chair back, 

He sweetly does compose him ; 
Which, by degrees, slips round her neck, 

An*s loot upo* her bosom 

Unkend that day. 

xn. 

Now a* the congregation o*er 
Is silent expectation j 



( 33 ) 

For •****♦ speels the holy door, 

Wi' tidings o* d-mn-t--n. 
Should Hornle^ as in ancient days, 
• *Mang sons o' G— present him, 
The vera sight o* *»»**'s face, 

To's aint het hame had sent him 
Wi* friglit that day. 

XIII. 

Hear how he clears the points o* faith 

Wi* rattlin an* thumpin ! 
Now meekly talm« now wild in wrath, 

Hc'sstampin, an* he's jumpin ! 
His lenp^then'd chin, his turnM-up snout, 

His eldritch scpieel and Q;estu:'es, 
O how they fire the heart devout. 

Like caritharidian plasters. 
On sic a day ! 

XIV. 

But hark! the tent has chang'd its voices 

There's peace an* rest nae langer: 
For a* the nal judges rise, 

They canna sit for an^-er. 
***** opens out his cauld harrangues? 

On practice and on morals ; 
An' atf the godly pour in thrang^. 

To gic the jars an* barrels 
A lift that day, 

XV. 

What signifies his barren shine, 

Of moral pow*rs an* reason? 
His English style, an* gestures fine, 

Are a* clean out o' season. 
Like Socrates on Antonine^ 

Or some auld Pagan Heathen, 
The moral man he does define, 

But ne*er a word o* faith in 

That's right tiiat dajr. 



XVI. 

In gudc time comes an antidote 

Against sic poison'd nostrum; 
For ****** frae the water-fit, 

Ascends the holy rostrum : 
See, up he's got the word o' G-^, 

\n* meek an* mim has view*d it, 
While Commo'^-scnfir has ta*en the road^ 

An* aff an' up the Cow-t^ate, 

Fast, fast that day. 

XVII. 

Wee ****** niest, the Guard relieve?, 

An* orthodoxy raibles, 
Tho* in his heart he weel believes, 

An' thinks it auld wives' fal)les : 
But, faith! the birkie wants a Manse, 

So, CanniHe he hums them; 
Altho' his carnal wit an' sense 

Like hafilins-wise o'ercoives him 
At times that day. 

XVIII. 

Now butt an* ben. the Chanp;e-house fills, 

VVi' yili-caup Commentat> rs : 
Here's crvincf out for bakes an' i^ills, 

An' there the pint stown clatters ; 
Whi-e t'\ick an' thrrncr, an' l<md an' lang\ 

Wi* I.op;ic, an* wi' Scripture. 
They raise a din. lh?.t. in the end, 

Is like to bre<^d a rupture 

O' wrath that t'ay. 

XIX. 

Lceze me on drink ! it pjies us mair 
Than ether Scl.ool or College: 

It kindles wit. it uau'scns lair, 
It pancrs us fou o' knowledi?"C. 

Be't whisky ?'ill or penny wheep, 
Or ony stronger potion, 



i 24 ) 

It never fails, on drinking deep, 
To kittle up our notion, 

By night or day. 

XX. 

The lads an* lasses, blythely bent 

To mind baith Saul an* body, 
Sit round tlie table, weel coiitent, 

An' steer about the toddy. 
On this ane's dress, an* that ane*s leuk, 

They're makin observations; 
While some are cozie i* the neuk. 

An' formin assignations 

To meet some day. 

XXI. 

But now the L — d's ain trumpet touts, 

Till a' the hills are raiiin, 
An' eclioes back return the shouts : 

Black — — is na spairin : 
His piercing words, like Highland swords. 

Divide the joints an' marrow ; 
His talk o' H-IL whare devils dwell, 

Our vera sauls does harrow*, 

Wi' fright that day. 

XXII. 

A vast, unbottom'd, boundless pit, 

Fili'd fou' o' lowin brunstane, 
Wna's ragin flame, an' scorciiin heatj 

Wad melt tnc hardest whun-stanc. 
The half asleep start up wi' fear, 

An* Think they hear it roarin. 
When presently it does appear, 

*Twas but some nebor snonn 
Asleep tliat day. 

XXIII. 

''Twad be owre lang a tale, to tell 
How monie stories past, 

* Shakespeare^ 8 HaniUf. 



( 25 ) 

An* how they crouded to the yill, 

When tliey weie a' dismist: 
How drink gaed round, in cogs an* caups, 

Amang the iurms an' benches ; 
An* cheese an' bread, frae Avomen's laps, 

Was dealt about in lunches, 

An' dawds that day. 

XXIV. 

In comes a gaucie, gash Gudewife, 

An' sits down by the fire, 
Syne chaws her kebbuck an* her knife, 

The lasses they are shyer. 
The auld Gudemen, about the grace, 

Frae side to side they bother, 
rill some ane by his bonnet lays, 
An* gies them*t like a tether, 
Fu' lang that day. 

XXV. 

^V'ac sucks ! for him that gets nae lass. 

Or lasses that hae naething! 
Sma, need has he to say a grace, 

Or mttlvic his l)raw plaithing ! 
O wives he mindfu', ance yoursel, 

How bonie lads ye wanted. 
An' dinna, for a kcbJDUck-heel, 

Let lasses be aftVonted 

On sic a day ! 

XXVI. 

Now Clinkumbtll, wi' rattlin tow, 

Begins to jow an* croon ; 
Some swagger hame, the best they dow, 

Some wait the afternoon. 
At slaps the billies halt a blink, 

Till lasses strip their shoon : 
Wi* faith an* hope, an* love an' drink. 

They're a* in famous tune, 

I'or crack that day. 
r» 



( 26 ) 

XXVII. 

How monie hearts this day converts 

O' sinners and o' lasses ! 
Ti.eir hearts o* stane gin night are gane, 

As salt as ony flesh is. 
There's some are foil o* love divine ; 

There's sonne are fou o* brandy ; 
An' monie jobs tliat day begin, 

May end in Ilonghmat^andie 
Some ither day. 

DEATH 
AjYD doctor HORjYBOOK, 

a true story. 

SOIVIE books are lies frae end to end. 
And some great lies were never penn'd : 
Ev'n ministers they hae been kcnn'd, 

In holy rapture, 
A rousing whid, at timt's, to vend, 

And nail't wi' Scripture. 

But this that I am gaun to tell, 
Which lately on a night befel, 
Is just as Irue's the Dcil's in h — 11 

Or Dublin city ; 
That e'er he nearer comes oursel 

'S a muckle pity. 

The Clacban yill had made me canty, 

I was na fou, but just had plenty : 

I slacher'd whyles, but yet took tent ay 

To free the ditches , 
An* hillocks, stjuies, *n' bushes, kenn'd ay 

Frae ghaists an' witches. 

The rising moon began to glowr 
The distant Cumnock hills out-owre ; 
To count her horns wi' a' my power, 
- I set mysel ; 



< 27 ) 

But whether she had tln-ec or four, 
I cou'd na tell. 

I was come round about the hill, 
And todlin down on Willie's miliy 
Setting my staff wi' a' my skill, 

To keep me sicker ; 
Tho* leeward whyles, a.qjainst my will, 

I took a bicker. 

1 there wi' Something did forgather, 

That put me in an eerie swither; 

An awfu scythe, out-owrc ae shouther, 

Clear-dang-ling hang ; 
A three tae'd leister on tlic ithcr 

Lay, large an' lang. 

Its stature seem'd lan^ Scotch ells twa. 
The queerest shape that e'er I saw, 
P'or fient a wame it had ava ; 

And then iis siianks, 
They wei*e as thin, as sharp an' sma' 

As cheeks o' b ranks. 

* Gude-een,' quo' I ; * Friend! hae ye been mawin, 
' When ithcr folk are busy sawin*? 
Jt seem*d to mak a kind o' stan', 

But naething- spak ; 
At length, says I, * Friend, whare a* ye gauii, 

* Will ye go back?' 

It spak right howe, — * My name is Death, 
' But be na' fley'd.— Quoth I, ' Gude f\\itli, 
^ Ye're may be come to stap my breath ; 

' But tent me billie j 
' I red you weel, tak care o' skaith, 

* See there's a gully ! 

Gudeman,' quo* he, ' put up your whittle, 
]'m no design'd to try its mettle ; 
' But if I did, I wad be kittle 

* To be mislear'd, 

* This rencounter hafifxened in seed time^ 178 J. 



( 2^ ) 

• I wad na mind it, no that spittle 

OtU-owre my beard.* 

^ Weel, wee] I' says I, a bargain be't ; 
^ Come, ^ics your hand, an' sae we're grec't 
We'll ease our shanks an* tak a seat, 

* Come, gies your news ; 
^ 'I'liis while * ye hae been mony a p^ate 

* At mony a house.' 

' Ay, ay ! quo' he, an* shook his head, 
' It's e'en a lan.:j, lanij time indeed, 

* Sin' I began lo nick the thread, 

* An* choke the breath : 

' Fi>Ik inaun do soniethnig for their brcud. 
' An' sac maun Deaths 

Sax thousand years arc near hand fled 
Sin* I was to t'.e butchin,^ bred, 
^ An' mony a sclieme in vain's been laid, 

* To stop or scar me ; 

' Till ane IJorubGok's t ta'cn up the trade, 
' An' faithj lie'il waur me. 

• Ye ken Jock Hornbook V the Clachan. 

* D|il mak his king*s-hood in a spleuchan ! 

' lie's grown sae well acquaint wi' Buchan\ 

* An' ithcr chaps, 

♦ The weans had out their fii>gers laughin 

* And pouk my hips. 

' See, here's a scythe, and there's a dait, 
' They hae pierc'd mony a gallant heait ; 

* But Doctor JIorTtboGk, wi* his art 

* And curstd skill, 

• Has made them baitli no worth a f — t, 

' De'il haet they'll kill. 

* ^n ejiidenu'ca! fi ver wa* i/icnraging^ in that countiy. 

t This gentlenuri. Dr. Hornbock, is firofessianallyy a 
brother oj the sovereign Order of the Ferula ; buty by in- 
tuition and -ns/iiraiicv, !> : Jjioihecarij, Surgeon > 
mnd Physician. 

^ 7:^.vr/:av'.< Domfsfic MediitifC 



( 29 ) 

*''Twas but yestreen, nae further gacii, 

' 1 tiirew :i iioblt* throw at ane ; 

*■ Wi* less. I'm sui'c, Tve Imtidred's slain ; 

* But ck**il-me.-care, 
' It just play'cl dirl on the ban-^, 

* But difl na niair. 

* Hornbook was bv. wl* ready art, 

* And had sae fortify'd the part, 

* Tliat when I lookrt to my dart, 

< It was sae blunt, 

^ Fient haet o't wad hae pierc'd the lieart 

< Of a kail-runt. 

* I drew mv scythe in sic a fury, 

* I neai hand cowpit wi' my hurry, 

* But yet the bauld Jfv.th.cary 

* Withstood the shock ; 

* I might as weel hae trv'd a quarry 

* O' hard whin rock. 

* Kv*n them he canna get attended, 

* Altho* their face he ne'er had kend it, 

* Just — in a kail-blade, and send it, 

* As soon he smells *t, 

* Baith their disease, and what will mend it, 

* At once he tells 't. 

* And then a' doctor's saws and whittles, 

* Of a' dimensions, shapes, an' mettles, 

* A* kinds o* boxes, mugs, an* bottles, 

* He's sure to hae ; 

* Their Latin names as fast he rattles 

* As A B C. 

' Calces o' fossils, earth, and trees ; 

* I'rue Sal-marinum o* the seas ; 
' The Farina of beans and pease, 

* He hast'l in plenty : 

* Aqua-fontis, what you please, 

' He can content ye. 

^ For by some new, uncommon weapon-i;, 
' Urinus Spiritus of capons; 
D 2 



( 30 ) . 

f Or Mite-born shavins^s, filings, scrapings, 

' D iSUWd f/cr St ; 
^ Sal-alkali o' Midg-e-lail-clippings, 

' And mony mac' 

* Wats me for Johnny Grd's Hole* now/ 
Quo' I, ' if that the news ha true ! 

* His braw calf-ward whare i^owans grew, 

* Sae white and bonic, 

* Nae doubt tbey*ll rive it wi' the plew ; 

'They'll ruin Jolims r 

The creature grain'd an eldritch laugh, 
And says, *- Ye needna yoke the pleugh, 

* Kirkyards will soon be tiiPd eneugh, 

* Tik ye nae fear : 
They'll a' be trench'd wi' mony a sheugh. 

* In twa-thrce year. 

' Whare I kil.i'd ane a fair strr.e death, 

* By loss o' blood, or want o' breath, 

' This night I'm free to tak my aith, 

* That Hornbook*^ skill 
' Has clad a score i' their last claith, 

* By drapan' pill. 

* An honest Wabster to his trade, 

' Whase wife's twa nisves were scarce well bred, 

* Gat tippence-worth to mend her head, 

* ^Vhen it was sair ; 

* The wife sladc c?.nna to her bed, 

' But ne'er spak man*. 

* A countra iaivJ had ta'en the batts, 

* Or some curnr.irring in his pruts, 
' Mis only son for florrbock sets, 

' An' pays hini .well. 
' The lad, for twa gude gimmer-pets, 

* W'as laird himsel. 

' A bonnie lass, ye kend her name, 

' Some ill-brewn drink had hov'd her wt^nie ; 

* Tne grave di^^er. 



( 31 ) 

' She trusts liersel, to hide the shame, 

* Jn f/orn/jook*s care ; 

* Horn sent her afT to her hvuii; Iiame, 

* To hide it there. 

* That's just ^a i, watch o' ft'^rnb-^ok^s Way ; 

* Thus goes he on from d ly to day^ 

* Thus does he poison, kill an' slay, 

' An's weel paid for*t ; 

* Yet stops me o' my lawfu' prey, 

Wi' his d-mn*cl dirt: 

« But hark ! I'll tell you of a plot, 

* Tho' dinna ye be speaking o*t ; 

* I'll nail the self conceited Sot, 

' As dead's a herrin : 
' Niest time we meet, IMl wad a groat, 

* He gets his fairin ! 

But just as he began to tell, 

The auld kirk-hammer strak the bell 

Some wee short hour ayont the ^7^•Q^ 

Which rais'd us baith : 
I took the way that pleas'd mysel, 

And sac did Death, 

THE BRIGS OF AYR, A POEM. 

Inscribed to J. B*********, Esq. Ayr 

'i HE simple Bard, routjli at tlje rustic plough; 
Learning his tuneful trade from ev'ry bough j 
The chanting linnet, or the mellow thrush, 
Hailing the setting sun, sweet, in the green thorn bush 
The soaring lark, the pt^rching red-breast shrill, 
Or deep-ton'd plovers, grey, wild-whistling o'er the hill j 
Shall he, nurs'd in the peasant's lowly shed, 
To hardy Independence bravely bred, 
By early poverty to hardship steel'd 
And trainVl to arms in stern Misfortune's field; 
Shall he be guilty of their hireling crimes. 
The servilcj mercenarv Swiss of rhymes' 



C 32 ) 

Or labour hard the panegyric dose, 

W.t') .-Ji I'-je v-nal soul of ckdicatiivi^ ^rose I 
Ko ! ihouf^h his artless sirains r.e ruav'y ..i'Jv^s* 
And throws his hand uncout'ilv oVr i le strings, 
He i^iows with all the spirit of the Bard 
Fan»e ron^-st fiimc his f^reat liis dear reward. . 
Stili 'f some Pvilroif's v^en*roiis care he trace, 
SkillM in tnt^ seen t to bestow wit'j grace ; 
Wlan B»******»* befriends hjs humble name 
And hands the rustic stranger up to f ime> 
With heartfch throws his "^^rd'.fu: bo^.om swells, 
The godlike bliss, to vjive, alone exceils. 



Iter s bitmi^, frosty breath ; 

icing o'er their summer toils, 1 

uds an' flowr's, delicious spoils, V 

frugal care in massive waxen piles. J 



*'^waR when the stacks get on their winter-hap, 
And thack and rape secure the toil-won-crap y 
Potatoe-bings are snugged up f.*ae skaith 
Of coming winter's biting, frosty breath 
The bees, rejoic! 
Unnumber'd buds 
Seal'd up with 
Are Joom'd by man, that tyrant o'er the weak, 
The death o' devils smoor'd wi' brimstone reek : 
The thundering guns are heard on ev'ry side, 
The wounded covey s,l'eeling, scatter wide ; 
The feather'd field-mates, bound by Nature's tict 
Sires, mother's, children, in one carnage lie : 
(What warm, poetic heart but inly bleeds. 
And execrates man's savage, ruthless deeds !) 
Nae mair the flow'r in field or meadow springs i 
Nae mair the grove Avith airy concert rings. 
Except perhaps the Robin's whistling glee. 
Proud o' the height o* some bit half-lang tree: 
Tb.e hoary morns precede the sunny days, 
Mild, calm, serene, wide-spreads thenoon-tide blaze, 
While thick the gossamour waves wanton in the rays. 
'Twas in that season, when a simple bard, 
Unknown and poor, simplicity's reward, 
Ae night, within the ancient hru:jh o? ^iyfy 
By whim inspir'd, or haply prest wi' care. 



} 



( 83 ) 

He left his l)ed, and took his wayward rout, 

And down by Simfison's* wheelM the left about : 

(Whether impell'd by all directint^ Fate, 

To witness what I after shall narrate ; 

Or whether, rapt in meditation high. 

He wander'd out, he knew not wliere nor why) 

The drowsy Dungeon-clock f had number'd two, 

And Wallace Tovj*r f had sworn the fact was true: 

The tide-swoln Firth, with sullen sounding roar, 

Through the still night dash*d hoarse along the shore 

All else was hush*d as Nature's closed e'e ; 

The silent moon shone high o'er tow'r and tree : 

The chilly frost benjath the silver beam. 

Crept gently-crusting, o'er the glittering strc3im. 

Wiien, lo! on either hand the list'ning Bard, 
The clanging sugh of whistling wings is heard j 
Two dusky forms dart thro' the midnight air, 
Swift as the Gof}\ drives on the wheeling hare; 
Ane on th* .4uld Brig his airy shape uprears, 
The ither flutters o'er the rising fliers : 
Our \v.\rlock Rhymer instantly descry'd 
The Sprites that owre the Brigs of Ayr preside. 
(That Bards are second-sighted is nae joke^ 
And ken the lingo of the sp'ritual folk; 
Fays, Spunkies, Kelpies, a', they can explain them, 
Andev'n the vera deils they brawly ken them.) 
Auld Brig appcar'd of Ancient Pictish race. 
The vera wrinkles Gothic in his face : 
He seem'd as he wi' Time had warstl'd lang, 
Ycl teughly dourc, he bade an unco bang. 
A"i •■' Brig was buskit in a braw new coat, 
Tiuii he, at Lon*on^ frae ane Adams, got : 
In's hand five taper staves as smooth's a bead, 
Wi' virls an* whirlygigums at the head. 
The Goth was stalking round with anxious search. 
Sp;. ivi; the time-worn flaws in ev'ry arch; 



* A noted tavern at the Auld Brig end. 
t The tivo stcejiles. 
\ The gos'haivk, or falcon. 



i 34 > 

It chanr.M his new-come neebor took his e*e.} 
And t'cn a vex*d and, angry heart had he! 
Wi* thieveless sneer Ijo see his modish mien. 
He, down the water, gies him this guideen— ■ 

AULD BHIG. 

1 doubt na, frien', ye*ll think ye're nae sheep -shanty, 
Ance ve were streekit o*er frae bank to bank ! 
But gin ye be a brig as auld as me, 
Tho' faith that day I doubt, ye'll never see ; 
There'll be, if that date come, Til wad a boddlc, 
Some fewer whigmeleeries in your noddle. 

NEW BRIG. 

Auld Vandal, ye but show your little niense> 
Just much about it wi' your scanty sense ; 
Will your poor, narrow foot-path of a street, 
Where twa wheel-barrows tremble when they meet^ 
Your ruin'd formless bulk o' stane an* lime, 
Compare wi bonie Brigs o' modern time? 
There's men o' taste wou'd tak the Bucat^tream^p 
Tho* they should cast the vera sark an' swim, 
E'er they would grate their feeling wi' the view 
Of sic an ugly, Gothic hulk as you. 

AULD BRI0. 

Conceited gowk ! pufTd up wi' windy pride ! 
This mony a year I've stood the flood an' tide ; 
And tho* wi' crazy eild I'm sair forfairn, 
I'll be a Brig^ when ye're a shapeless cairn ! 
As yet ye little ken about the matter. 
But twa-three winters will inform ye better, 
When heavy, dark, continued, a' day rains, 
Wi' deepening deluges o'erflow the plains ; 
When from the hills where springs the brawling CoU^ 
Or stately Lugar*s mossy fountain's boil. 
Or where the Greenock winds his moorland course. 
Or haunted Gar/iali draws his feeble source, 

* j1 noted ford ju9t above the Auld Brig. 
t The Banks of Garpal Water U one of the few filar 
ces in the West of Scotland, ivhere those fancy, scanng 



( 35 ) 

A'*onsM by blM^tVintr wincU an* sp )tinQ: thowesj, 
lii ' oi\y a i». i. ill down the sna-bioo lowcs; 
While eras, aij^ icc« borne on iht roaring spcat, 
Swee|"V8 dime, i.n' mills, uu' brigs, a' to the gatej 
An-'l h'onn Ghv.buvk^'' down to the Rat:on'Key^\ 
Auld .^7'?' is I list one lenv^tiienV., tumbling- sea; 
T? en down ye'M hurl, djil noi' yz never (ise! 
And tlash the i^iim 'e jaiips \i\> to the pounng skies,, 
A it-sson ssdiy teuc hlii^ to your cost, 
That Architecture's nobic art is lost! 

NEW BRIG. 

Fine ArchUrcturef^^ tvowlh, I needs must say't o*t.! 
The L — d be thankit that we've tint the gate o*t ! 
Gaunt, ghastly, ghaist-alluring edifices. 
Hanging with threat*ning jut, like precipices 
0*er arching, mouldy, gloom -iuspiring coves, 
Supporting roofs fantastic, stony groves : 
Windows and doors, in nameless sculptures drest. 
With order, symmetry, or taste unblest ; 
Forms like some bedlam Statuary's dream, 
The craz*d creations of misguided whim; 
Forms might be worshipped on the bended knee, 
And still the second dread command be free, 
Their likeness is not found on earth, in air, or set. 
Mansions that would disgrace the building taste 
Of any mason reptile, bird or beast ; 
Fit only for a doited Monkish race, 
Or frosty maids forsworn the dear embrace, 
Or cuifs of latter times, wha held the notion 
That sullen gloom was sterling true devotion ! 
Fancies that our gude Brugh denies protection, 
And soon may they expire, unblessM with resurrcctioi? i 

AULD BRIG, 

O ye my dear rememberM ancient yealings, 
Were ye but here to share my wounded feelines ! 

beings^ known bif t/w 7iame ©/"Ghaists, still continue Jicr- 

finacioutly to inhabit. 

♦ The source of the river J: r 

*t "i small iandifff /ilace above the large key:- 



} 



( 3(5 ) 

Ye "worthy Provfsfis an* mony a Bailie^ 
Wha in the puths o' rit^hteoiisncss did toil ay ; 
Ye dainty Dtacons, an' ye dooce Co?iv*-enersy 
To whom our moderns are but causey-ckaners ; 
Ye R:odly Councils wia hae blest this town i 
Ye p,odly Breihrtn of the sacred gown, 
"Wha nicekly gie your hurdles to the smiter^ : 
And (what would now be strange) ye i(odly Writers 
A* ye douce folk I've borne aboon the broo, 
Were you but here wo at Mould ye say or do I 
How would your spirits groan in deep vexation^ 
To see each melancholy alteration ; 
And agonizing, curse the time and place 
When ye be?:at the base degenerate race ! 
Nae lander Reverend IMen, their country's glory, 
In plain braid Scots hold forth a plain braid stoiy : 
Nae langer thrifty Citizens, an' douce. 
Meet owre a pint, or in the Council-house ; 
But staumrel, corky-headed gracekss Gentry, 
The herryment and ruin of the country ; 
Men, three-parts made by Taylors and by Barbers, 
Wha waste your weel-hain'd gear on d — d new^ Brigs 
and Harbcurs ! 

NEW BHIG. 

Now baud you there I for faith ye've said enough. 
And nuickle mair than ye can make to tin ough, 
As for your Priesthood, I shall say but little, 
Corbies and Clergy are a shot i ight kittle : 
But, under favor o' your langer beard. 
Abuse o' Magistrates might weel be spa:'d : 
To liken them to your auld-warld squad, 
I must needs say comparisons are odd. 
In ^iyr^ Wag-wits nae mair can hae a handle 
T<i mouth ' a Citizen,' a tein> o' scandal : 
Nae mair the Council waddles dov/n the street, 
In all tlie pomp of ignorant conceit ; 
Men wiia gitw wise priggin owrt hops an' raisins. 
Or gather'd Jib'ral views in Bonds and Seisins. 



( 37 ) 

If hapJy Knowledge, on a random tramp, 

Had shor'd t!icm with a p^linimer of his lamp, 

And would to Common-sense, for once betr^iy'd theai, 

Plain, dull stupidity stept blindly in to aid them. 



'■ 1 

:h High, r 



What fartl»er clishmaclaver mipjht been said, 
What bloody wars, if Sp'rits had blude to shed) 
No man can tell 1 but all before their sight, 
A fairy train appeared in order bright ; 
Adown the glittering stream they featly danc'd ; 
Bright to the moon their various dresses glanc*d, 
They footed o*er the wat*ry glass so neat. 
The infant ice scarce bent beneath their feet ; 
While arts of Minstrelsy among them rung, 
And soul-ennobling bards heroic ditties sung. 
O had M*-La7ichUin*y thairm-inspiring Sage, 
Been there to hear this heavenly bund engage, 
When thro* his dear Strathsfieys they bore with 

land rage. 
Or when they struck old Scotia's melting airs, 
The lover's raptur'd joys or bleeding cares; 
How would his Highland lug been nobler fir'd, 
And ev*n his matchless hand with finer touc'i inspired I 
No guess could tell what instrument appcar*d, 
But all the soul of Music's self was heard ; 
Harmonious concert rung In every part, 
While simple melody pourM moving on the hearty 
The Genius of the stream in front appears, 
A venerable chief advanced in years ; 
His hoary head with water-lillies crown*d, 
His manly leg with garter tangle bound. 
Next came the loveliest pair in all the ring, 
Sweet Female Beauty hand in hand with vSpring; 
Then* crown'd with flow'ry hay, cume Rural Joy, 
And Summer, with his fervid-beaming eye; 
All-cheering Plenty, with her flowing horn. 
Led yellow Autumn wreath'd with nodding corn ; 
Then Winter's time-blcach'd locks did hoary show, 

* -A ivtU knoivn Jicrformcr of Scottish jnusic on the vioiiri. 



( 38 ) 

By hospitality with cloudless brow. 

Next ibllovv'd Courage with his martial stride, 

From where the Fcal wild-woody coverts hide: 

Benevolence, with mild, benignant air, 

A female form came from the tow*rs of Stair: 

Learning and worth, in equal measures trode, 

From simple Catrine^ their long-lov*d abode; 

Last, white-rob'd Peace, crownM with a hazle wreath 

To rusiic agriculture did bequeath 

The broken iron instruments of death ; 

At sight of whom our Spritesforgat their kindlingwrath. 

THE ORDINATION. 

For sense they tittle owe to frugal HeaveU'-m 
7o filease the mob they hide the little giv*n. 

I. 
KILMAPNOCK Wabsters fidge an' claw, 

An* pour your creeshie nations j 
An* ye wha leather rax an* draw, 

Of a' denominations; 
Swith to the Laigh Kirk, ane an* a*, 

An* there tak up your stations ; 
Then aff to JB-g-h's in a raw, 

An* pour divine libations 

For joy this day. 

11. 
Curst Common-sense, that imp o' h II, 

Cam in wi* Maggie Lauder ;* 
But O ******* aft made her yell. 

An* R***** sair misca'd her ; 
This day M******** takes the flail. 

An* he*s the boy will blaud her ! 
He'll clap a shangan on her tail, 

An' set the bairns to daud her 
Wi* dirt this day. 

* Mluding to a scoffing ballad ivhich nvas inacle 6n the 
admission of the lute Reverend and worthy Mr, Z-. ro 
fhe Ltagh JGrk, 



C 39 ) 

III, 

Mak haste an* turn king; David owrc, 

An* lilt wi* holy clang^or ; 
O* double verse come gie us four, 

An* skirl up the Bangor : 
This day the Kirk kicks up a stoure, 

Nae mair the knaves shall wrang her, 
For Heresy is in her pow'r, 

And gloriously she*Il whang her 
Wi* pith this day. 
IV. 
Come let a proper text be read, 

An' touch it aff wi' vigour. 
How j^raceless Kam t Icui^h at his Dad, 

Which made Canaan a niger ; 
Or Phineas \ drove the murdering bladej 

Wi* wh-re -abhorring rigour ; 
<^r Zififiora *, the scauldin jad, 

Was like a bluidy tiger 

1* th* inn that day. 

V. 

There, try his mettle on tlie creed, 

And bind him down wi' cautLon, 
That Siifiend is a carnal weed 

He taks I>ut for the fashion ; 
And gie him o'er the flock, to feed, 

And punish each trans.i^ression ; 
Especial, rarm tiiat cross tlie breed, 

Gie them sufficient threshin, 

ISpare them nae day. 
VI. 

Now auld Kilmarnock cock thy tail, 

And toss tliy horns fu* canty 
Nae mairtiiou'lt route out-ovvre the dale, 

13('cause thy pasture's scanty ; 

t Oencsiti^ ch. ix. ver. 22. 
\ A''um/}frSi (^h. XXV. vcr. g. 
* Jixodua, ch. iv. ver. 25. 



( 4f> ) 

For lapfn's lar^e o* gos/iel kail 

Shall fill thy crio in plenty, 
An* runts o' j^race^ the pick and wale^ 

No gi*en by way o* dainty, 
But ilka day. 

VIL 

Nae inair by BahePs streams "we'il weq>^ 

To think upon oVLvZion; 
And hinp: our fiddles up to sleeps 

Lik< baby -clouts a dry in : 
Come, screw the pejrswi* tunefu' chetfpj. 

And oVr the thairms be try in ; 
Oh, rare ! to see our elbucks wheep. 

And a' like lamb-tails flyin 

Fu* fast this day 1 

VIII. 

Lang Patro7mge^ wi* rod o* airn, 

Has shor'd the Kirk's undoin, 
As lately F-nw-ck, sair forfaini, 

Has proven to its ruin : 
Our patron, honest man ! Gl*******: 

He saw mischief was brewin ; 
And like a godly elect bairn, 

Hc'ti wal'd us out a true anc, 

And sound this day. 

IX. 

Now R******* harangue nae mair, 

But steek your gab for ever : 
Or try the wicked town of Ayr, 

For there they'll think you clever i 
Or, nae reflection on your lear, 

Ye may commence a shaver ; 
Or to the A'-th-rt-n repair, 

And turn a Carpet-weaver 

Aff-hand this day. 

X. 

M***** and you were just a matclj, 
We never had sic twa drones i^ 



( 41 ) 

Aukl Hornie did the Laigh Kirk watch. 
Just like a winkin baiidrons : 

And ay* he catch*d the tither wretch, 
To fry them in his caudrons : 

But now his honor maun detach, 
Wi' a* his brimstone squadrons, 
Fast, fast this day. 

XI. 

See, see auld Orthodoxy's faes 

She's swingein thro' the city ; 
Hark, how the nine-tail'd cat she plays 

I vow it's unco pretty : 
There, learning with his Greekish face, 

Grunts out some Latin ditty ; 
And Common Sense is gaun, she says, 

To mak to Jamie Beattie 

Her plaint this day. 

XH. 
But there's Morality himsel. 

Embracing all opinions ; 
Hi'or, liow he gies the tither yell. 

Between his twa companions , 
See, how she peels the skin an' fell, 

As ane were peelin onions! 
Now there — they're packed aff to hep, 

And banish'd our rtominions, 

Henceforth this day. 

XIII. 
O happy day ! rejoice, rejoice ! 

Come bouse about the porter i 
Morality's demure decoys 

Shall here na mair find quarter : 
]^|.»»«»»#^ I^»*»**#^ are the boys, 

That Heresy can torture ; 
They'll gie her on a rape a hoyse, 
And cow her measure shorter 

By th' head some day. 



( 42 ) 

XIV. 

Gome, bring the tither mutchkin i«, 

And here's for a conclusion, 
To every A^eiv IJc^ht* mother's son, 

From this time forth, Confusion.: 
If mair they fleave us with their din, 

Or Patronas:e intrusion, 
We'Jl light a spunk, and. every skin, 

We'll rin them aff in fusion 

Like oil, some day. 

THE CALr. 
TO THE REV. MR. — 



'On his Trxt^ malachi, ch. iv. ver. 2. " jii^d they shaii 
" go forth, and ^ row up. like calves of the ttalL*^ 

RIGHT Sir ! your text I'll prove it true, 

Though Heretics may laugh : 
For instance ; there's yoursel just now, 

God knows, an unco Calf! 

And should some Patron be so kind> 

As bless you wi* a kirk, 
1 doubt na. Sir but then we'll find, 

Ye'rc still as great a Stiik. 

But, if the Lover's raptur'd hour 

Shall ever be your lot. 
Forbid it every heavenly power, 

You e'er should be a Stot. 

'J 'ho*, when some kind, connubial deac, 

Your but-and-bcn adorns, 
The like has been that you may wear 

A noble head of horns. 

* New-light 7"' a cant ^ih^a.ic^in t*ie West of Scotlantt^ 
for those, religious ofiiniz'^M wfuch Dr. Taylor ofJVor'wick 
A«* defended no strenuously. 



( 4S ) 

And ir^'mir Jug, most reverend J—*-*, 

To heal' you roar and vowte, 
Few men o' sense will doubt your claims 

To rank amang the nowtc. 

And wlien ye're «umber*d wi' the dead, 

Below a grassy hillock, 
\Vi* justice they may mark your head— ' 

* Here lies a famous BuilockV 

ADDRESS TO THE DEIL. 

Prince! O Chief of many throned Powersy 
That led th* embattVd Seraphim to war — 

Milton. 
O THOU I whatever title suit thee, 
Auld Hornie, Satan, Nick, or Clootie, 
Wha in yon cavern grim an* sootie. 

Clos'd under hatches, 
Spairges about the brunstane cootie, 

1 o scaud poor wretches/ 

Hear me auld Hangie for a wee. 
An* let poor damned bodies be ; 
I'm sure smjn* pleasure it can gie> 

E*vn to a det'i, 
To skelp an' scaud poor dogs like mt^t 

An* hear us squeel ! 

Great is thy pow'r, an* great thy fame > 
'Far kcnd and noted is thy name ; 
An' tho' yon lowin ht Utah's thy hame, 

Thou travels far ; 
An, faith ! thou's neither lag nor lame, 
' Nor blate nor scaur. 

Whiles, ranring like a roarin lion. 
Tor prey, a' hoks an' comers tryin ; 
W isyies on the slront':-wi*nt;'ri tempets flyiiT(; 

Tlrling the kirks ; 
Whylei, in the human bosom pryin, 
Unseen thou knks, 

I've heard ray reverend Graimie say# 
In lancly glens ye like to stray ; 



( 44 ) 

Or where auld-ruin'd castles gray, 
Nod to the moon, 

Ye fright the nightly wand'rer's way, 
W;' eldritch croon. 

When twilight diil my Grannie summDU, 
To say her prayers, douce, honest woman i 
Aft yont the dyke she's heard you bumming 

Wi* eerie dione ; 
Or, rustlin, thro' the booitri- «i comin, 
Wi' heavy groan. 

Ae dreary, windy, w inter night. 
The stars shot down wi' sklcntin light. 
Wi' you, mysel, I p:at a fright, 

A yont the lough; 
Ye, like a rash-huss, stood in sip^lit, 
\\ i* waving sugh J 

The rudgf 1 in my nieve did shake, 
Each bristl'ti hair stood like a stake, 
When wi' an eldritch stoor, quaick— quaick-* 

Amang the springs, 
Awa ye squatter'd like a drake, 

On whistling wings. 

Let timriocks grim, an' wither'd hag-Sy 
Tell how wi' you on ragweed nags. 
They skim the muirs, an' dizzy crags, 

Wi* wicked speed; 
And in kirk-yards renew iheir leagues, 

Owre howkit dead. 
Thence countra wives, wi' toil an' pain. 
May plunge an' plunge the kirn in vain; 
For, oh! the yellow treasure's taen 

By witching skill ; 
An* dawtit, twal pint Hav.'kit*s gaen 

As yell's the Bill. 

Thence mystic knots mak great abuse, 
On youiig Gudcmen, fond, keen, an' crouse 
When the best warklume i' the house, 
By cantrip wit, 



f 45 ) 

Is instont mflde no worth a louse, 
Just at the \vt. 

Wlien thows dissolve the snawy hoord', 
An' lloat the jinf^^Iin iry-boord, 
Then M^or^-r/r^/'r-s haunt the foord, 

IW youi dirtT.tion, 
An* nightt'd Trav'iU-rs are alhu'M 

To their destruction. 

An* aft ycur moss tvaversinj? S/mvkieh 
Decoy the wiv>,!;t that late an* drunk is : 
The bleczin cursf niiscMcvous mohkie« 

Dohvde his < yes, 
Till in some miry slou«^h he sunk Is, 
Nc*er mair to rise. 

Whrn Maffonn* Tny<itic tuord an* gruPj 
In ^torhis an' tempests raise you up, 
Some cock or cat your rav^e ma\in stop. 

Or, strange to tell I 
The youngest Brotlier ye wad whup 

Affstrau^^lU to hell! 

Lan>^ syne in Edrn^t bonie yard. 
When youth fii* lover's first were pair*d, 
And a' the soul of love they sluu-'d. 
The rapt\u''d hour. 
Sweet on the frajrriint, flow'ry swalrd, 
In shady how'r : 
Then you, ye auld, snec-drawing dog! 
A c cam to paradise incog. 
An' play'd on man a cursed brogue, 

(Black be your fa 
All' gledthe infant warid a shog, 
'Maist ruin 'da'. 

D'ye mind that day, wlven in a bizz, 
Wi* reekit duds, an* reestit gizz, 
Ye did present y<»ur smutic phiz, 

*Mang better folk, 
All' sklented on the mar. of Uxz 

Your spitefu* joke ? 



( 46 ) 

An' ho^<^ ye p^oi him i' your thrall^ 
An' brak liim out o' house an' hall, 
While scabs an' botches did him gall, 

Wi* bitter claw, 
An'lows'd his ill-tons^u'd, wicked ScauU 
SVas warst ava ! 

But n' your doings to rehearse, 
You" wiley snares an' fechtin fierce, 
Sin' that day Afichad* did you peircC) 

Down to this time, 
Wad ding a Lallan tonp;ue, or Erse, 

In proSe or rhyme. 

An* now, auld Cloots^ I ken ye're thinkii^ 
A certain Bardie's rantin, drinkin, 
Some luckless iiour will send hira linking 

To your black pit ; 
But, faith ! he'll turn a corner jinkin, 

An* cheat you yet. 

But, fare you well, auld Xickie-ben i 
O wad ye tak a l».ouv;ht un' men* ! 
Ye aiblins might — I dinna ktn — 

bull bar a i/wAv— ^ 
I'm wae to think upo' \t»ii den, 

Ev'n for your sake ! 

THE DEATH AND DYING WORD§ 

Oi i'oor Mailie, tht author's only pet yowe. 

. .'• unco mr>umfu^ Tale, 

AS Mailie^ an' Iki kiinbs Ihegither, 
"Were ae d.iy nibbhng on the t:t:ier, 
Upon her cioot s^e coost a hitc i. 
An' ovvre she Waisl'd ui the c tt n : 
There, groaniii.^", uvinir. she dici ue. 
When Hughoc] lie Ctim doytn by. 



• Vide MiLfou. Bouk VI. 
t ^ neibor herd'Callan. 



( 47 ) 

Wi* jjlowrin ecn, an' lifted han*s, 

Poor Fui^fijc like a statue Stan's j 

He saw her days were near hand ended, 

But, waes my heart! he could na mend it ! 

He »;!;aped wide, hut naething spak ; 

At length poor MaiUc silence brak. 

* O, thou, vvhasc lamentable face 
Appears to mourn my wacfu' case ! 
Mv i!,>intif w^r./v attentive hear, 
An' b ar tliem to my Master dear. 

* Tell him. if e*er a|2;ain he keep 
As muckle i^ear as buy a sheep, 
O, bid him never tie them muir 
Wi* wicked strini^s o' hemp or hair ! 
But ca* them out to park or hill. 
An* let them wander at thei.' will. 
So muv his flock increase, an* grow 
To scores o' lambs, an* packs o* woo* I 

* Tell him, he was a Master kin*, 
An* av was f^ude to me and mine ; 
An* now my dyini^ chart^e I ^ie him, 
My helpless iambs I trust them wi* him. 

* O, bid him save their harmless liv-s, 
Frae doi^s, an* tods, an* butcher's knives I 
But t^ie them q^ude cow-milk their fill, 
Till they be fit to fend themsel ; 

An* tent them duly e'^n an* morn, 
Wi' teats o' hay an' rips o' corn. 

* An' may they never learn the ^acts 
Of ilher vile, wanreslfu* /letM ! 

To slink thro* slaps, an' reave an' steal, 

At stacks o' pe-iie, or stocks o* kail. 

So may they, like their ^reat Forbears, 

For monie a year come thro' the sheers ; 

So wives will f^ie them bits o* brcitd, 

An* bairns pjreet for them when they're dead. 

* Mv poor toofi-lamh^ my son an' licir, 
0, bid him breed him up wi* care ! 



* ( 48 ) 

An* if he live to be a beast, 
To pit somt' bavins in his breast ! 
An' Avarn him, what I winna name, 
To stay content vvi* yowes at hame ; 
An' no to rin an* wear his cloots, 
Lik ither mensclcss, graceless, brutes. 

* An* niest my yowie^ silly thing, 
Gude keep thee frae a tether string 1 
O, may thou ne'er forgather up 

"W i' ony blastit, moorland toop ; 

But aye keep mind to moop and mell, 

Wi' sheep o'crcdit like thysel ! 

* And now, my bairns, wi' my last breat^^ 
I lea'e my blissin wi* you baith : 

An* when you think upo' your Mither, 
Mind to be kin* to ane anither. 

* Now, honest Hughocy dinna fail 
To tell my Master a' my tale ; 

An' bid him burn this cursed tether, 

An* for thy pains, thou'se get my blether.* 

This said, poor Mailie turn'd her head, 
An* clos'd her een amang the dead. 

POOR MAILIE'S ELEGY. 

LAMENT in rhymf , lament in prose, 
Wi' saut tears trickling down your nose ; 
Our bardie's fate is at a close. 

Past a' remead ; 
The last sad cap-stane of his woes : 
Poor Alaiiit'*fi dead 1 

It's no the loss o* warl's gear, 
That could sae biUer draw the tear, 
Or mak our bardie dowie, wear 

The mourning weed : 
He's lost a friend and neebor dear. 

In Mailie dead. 



( 49 ) 

Thro* a* the town she trotted by him '. 
A lanj5 half-mile she could descry iiuTi ; 
Wi' kindly bleat, when she did spy him. 

She ran \\i' speed : 
\ fiicnd mair faith fu* ne'er cum nigh hinr^ 
Than Mailic dead. 

I w^t she was a sheep o* sense, 
An' could behave hersel wi' mense t 
I'll say't, she never brak a fence* 

Thro' thievish greedr 
Our bardy, Janely, keeps the spence 

Sin' Maiiic*s dead. 

Or, if he wanders up the howc, 
Her living' image in her yorvcy 
Comes bleating to him, owre the knowc, 

For bits o* bread ; 
An' down the briny pearles rowe 

For Mailie dead. 

She was nae get o' moorland toops, 
Wi* taw ted ket, an* hairy hips ; 
For her forbears were brought in ship>8 

Frae yont the Tweed : 
A bonier^^cM ne'er cross'd the clips 

Than Mailie*^ deud. 

Wae worth the man wha first did shapd 
That vile, wanchancie thin^— « rafie ! 
It maks gude fellows girn an' gape, 

Wi* chokin dread ; 
An' Robi7f% bonnet wave wi* crape, 

For Mailie dead. 

O, a' ye bards on bonie D0071 ! 
\n' Wha on ylyj your chantt;rs tune ! 
C"!ome, join the melancholious croon 

O' Robin's, iced ! 
His heart will never get aboon I 
His Mailie deaiK 
r 



^ 50 ) 
TO J. S * * * *. 

Friendsliifi ! imjsterious cement of the soul f 

Siveet^ncr of iff e^ and solder of society ! 

I Gxve thee miich. » Blair. 

DEAR S***% the sleeest, paukie thief, 
That e'er attempted stealth or rief, 
Ye surely hae some warlock-breef 

Owre human hearts ; 
For ne*er a bosom yet was prief 

Against your arts. 
For me, I swear by sun an* moon, 
And ev'ry star that blinks aboon, 
Ye've cost me twenty pair o* shoon 

Just gaun to see you ; 
And ev*ry ither pair that's done> 

Mair ta'en I'm wi' you. 

That auld capricious carlin, nature, 
To mak amends for scrimpet Stature, 
She's turn'd you off, a human creature 

On her^r*^ plan, 
And in her freaks, on ev'ry feature, 

She's wrote, the Man. 

Just now I've taen the fit o' rhyme. 
My barmie noddle's working prime. 
My fiuicy yerkit up sublime 

Wi' hasty summon : 
Hae ye a leisure-moment's time 

To hear what's com in ( 

Some rhyme, a neebor's name to lash ; 
Some rhyme (vain thought !) for needfu' cash . 
Some rhyme, to court the countra clash, 

An' raise a din ; 
For me, an aim I never fash ; 

I rhyme for fufi. 

The star that rules my luckless lot, 
Has fated me the russet coaS 



( 51 ) 

An* damnM my fortune to the gioat ; 

But» in requit, 
Has blest me wi* a random shot 

O' countia wit. 
This while my notion's taen a sklen^, 
To try my fate, in c^iide black firait ; 
But still the mair I'm that way bent, 

Something cries, * Ilooliel 
■ 1 red you, honest man. tak tent; 

' Ye'll shaw your folly. 

* There's itiier poets, much youi betters, 

* Far seen in Gret'k\ deep men o' letters, 

* liae thought they had ensur*d their debtors, 

* A' future aj^es ; 

* Now moths deform in shapeless tatters, 

* Their unknown pages.' 

Then fareweel hopes o* laurel-boughs, 
To garland mv poetic brows I 
Henceforth I'll rove where busy plough.B 

Are whistling thrang, 
An* teach the lanely heights an* howes 

My rustic sang. 

I'll wander on with tentiess heed 
How never-halting moments spi:id 
Till fate shall snap the brittle thread j 

Then, all unknown, 
I'll lay me with th' ingloiious dead, 

Forgot and gone ! 

But why of death begin a tale ? 
Jubi now we're living, sound and hale, 
Tiien top and maintop crowd tiie sail, 

Heave cart- o'er side,' 
And large, before enjoyment's gale, 

Let's tak the tide. 

This life, sae far's I understand, 
Js a* enchanted fairy land. 
Where pleasure is the magic wand, 
'i luit, wciided right, 



( 53 > 

♦laks IiDurs like minutes, hand in hand', 
Dance by fu' light. 

The magie-wand then let us wield ; 
For, ance that iivc-an*-forty*s speel'd^ 
See, crazy, weary, joyless eild, 

Wi' wrinkrd face, 
Comes hostin, hirplin owre the field, 

Wi* creepin pace. 

When ance life's day draws near the gloamiji? 
Then fareweel vacant careless roamiii ; 
An' fareweel cheerfu' tankards foam in, 

An* social noise ; 
An* fareweel dear deluding womony 

The joy of joys! 
O life I how pleasant is thy morning, 
Young Fancy's rays the hills adorning ! 
Cold-pausing caution's lesson scorning. 

We frisk away, 
Like school-boys, at th* expected warning, 

To joy and play. 

We wander there, we wander here, 
We eye the rose upon the brier, 
Unmindful that the thorn is near, 

Among the leaves ; 
And tho' the puny wound appear, 

bhort while it grieves. 

Some, lucky, find a flow'ry spat, 
For which they never toilM nor swat i 
They drink the sweet and eat the fat^ 

But care or pain i 
And, haply, eye the barren hut 

With high disdain. 

With steady aim, some fortune chase ; 
Keen liope does ev'ry sinew brace ; 
Thro* fair, thro* foul, they urge tlie race, 

And seize the prey ; 
Then canie in some cozie place, 

They close the day. 



( 53 ) 

And others,'like your luinible servan", 
Poor wights ! nae rules nor roads observin j 
To right or left eternal swervin, 

They zig-zag on ; 
'Till curst with age, obscure an* starvin, 

They aften groan. 
Alas ! what bitter toil an' straining — 
But truce with peevish, poor complaining I 
Is fortune's fickle Luna waning? 

E'en let her gang ! 
Beneath what light she has rema^nng. 

Let's sing our sang. 

My pen I here fling to the door, 
And Vneel, * Ye Pow'rsI* and warm implore, 

* Tbo' I should wander terra o'er, 

' In all her climes, 

* Grant me but this, I ask no more, 

* Ay, rowth o' rhymes. 

* Gie dreeping ro^ists fo countra lairds, 
' Till icicles hing f'ae their beards; 

* Gie fine braw cLlcs to fine Hfe-jruards, 

' And m \ids of honor j 
' And yill an' whiskev '^\t to cairds, 

* Until they scunner, 

*■ A title, Demfi^ter merits it; 

* \ t^arter gie to Willie Pirt; 

' Gie wealth to some be-ledger'd cit, 

* In rent per cent. 

* But gie me real sterling wit, 

* And I'm content, 

* While ye are pleas'd to keep me hale 

* I'll sit down o'er my scanty meal, 

* Be't ivater-brose^ or mualin-kaily 

'Wi* checrfu' face, 
^ As lang's the muses dinna fail 

' To say the grace.' 
An anxious e'e I never throws^ 
*T5ehmt my lug, or by my nose ; 
r2 



( 54 ; 

1 joiik beneath misfortune's blows 
As wcel's I may ; 

Sworn foe to sorrow, cure, and prose, 
1 rhyme away. 

O yc douce fblk, that live by rule, 
Grave, ruUlcss-bloodcd, calm and cool, 
Cuinpar'd wi' you — O fool I fool ! fool i 

How much, unlike I 
Your hearts are just a slandinpj pool, 

Your livc's a dyke! 

Nac huir-brain*d, sentimental traces 
In your unUttcr'd nameless faces ! 
In arwsv trills and j^races 

Ye never stray, . 
Jiut gravissimo^ solemn basses 

Yc hum away. 

Ye are sac (^ravr^ nac doubt ye*re w/se* , 
Nae ferly tho' you do desi)ise 
The huirum-scairum, ram-stam boys, 

The rattlin squad : 
I see you upwaidcast your eyes — 

—Ye ken the road.— 

Whilst I — hut 1 shall baud me there — 
WV you I'll scarce pjan^ omj iv/icrr — 
Then Jamie 1 shall say nae mair, 

But cjuat my sang, 
Content wi' Yen to mak a pair, 

^Yha^e'er I gang. 



C 55 ) 
A DREAM. 

Thoupjlits, words, and deeds, the statute blames with 
Bui -iurcly dreams were ne'er indicted treason, [reason ; 

[On rra(fir>ff, in the fiuhlic fiu/icrsy thf Laureat's Ode, 
with the other fiurade of June 4, 1786, the author waa 
no Kooner drofif adi'efi^ than he hn'ii^hicd hi/ntrl/ tranS' 
ported to the birth- duu Irvce ; afid in his dreamivgfancy^ 
viade the following Address.] 

I. 
CUDE-MORNIN to your Majestxj i 

May heuv'n au,T;ment your blisses, 
On ev'ry new hirth-daxi ye see, 

A luimble poet wislics ! 
My barrlsliip here, at your levee, 

On sic a day as this is, 
Is sure an uncouth sii^lit to see, 

Amang thae birth-day dresses 
Sac fine this day. 

II. 

1 sec ye'rc complimented thranj^, 

By mony a lord and iady ; 
* God save tlie kinj^ !* *s a cuckoo sang 

That's unco easy said aye; 
The fioetH^ too, a venal jranj^, 

Wi' rhymer, weel-turn'd and ready, 
Wad gar ye trow ye ne'er do wrang, 

But aye unerring; steady. 
On sic a day. 

HI. 

For mc ! before a monarch's fac*, 

Ev'n there I winna flatter ; 
For neither pension, post, nor plac6. 

Am I your humble debtor : 
So, nac reflection on \iour ^^-ace, 

Your kingship to bespatter ; 



( 56 ) 

There's monie waiir been o' the racp, 
Ana aiohns ane been D^ter 

Than you this day. 

IV. 
'Tis very true, my sov'reig;n king, 

My skill may weel be doubted : 
But facts are cheels that winna ding, 

An' downa be disputed ; 
Your royal nest, beneath your wing, 

Is e'en right reft an' clouted. 
And DOv> the third pa»t of the stiing, 

An* Less will gang about it 

Than did ae day. 

V. 

Far be't frae me that I aspire 

To blame your legislation, 
Or say, ye wisdom want, or fire, 

To rule this mighty nation I 
But, faith 1 I muckle doubt, my Sire.f 

Ye've trusted ministration 
To chaps, wha, in a barn or byre, 

Wad better fiU'd their station 

Than courts yon day. 

VI. 

And now ye've gien auld l^ritain^ peace, 

Her broken sliins to plaister ; 
Your sair taxation does her fleece. 

Till she has scarce a tester ; 
Tor me, thank God, my life's a lease, 

Nae bargain wearing faster, ^ 

Or, faith ! I fear, that, wi' the geese, 

I shortly boost to pasture 

I' the craft some day. 

VII. 
I'm no mistrusting Willir Pitt, 

When taxes he enlarges, 
(An' Will's a true gude fallow's get, 

A name not etivy spairges,) 



( 5i 3 

That he intends to pay your debt. 

An' lessen a* your charges ; 
But, C-d sake ! let nae fioving-Jit^ 

Abridge your bonie barges 

An* boats this day. 
VIII. 
Adieu my Leig^ ! may freedom gecfe 

Beneath your high protection ; 
An* may you rax corruption's neck, 

And gie her for dissection ! 
But since Tm here, I'll no neglect, 

In loyal, true affection, 
To pay your Quecn^ with due respect. 

My fealty an' subjection 

This great birth-day, 
IX. 
Hail, Majraty^ Most Excellent I 

While nobies strive to please ye ! 
"Will VK ttccept a compliment 

A simple poet J^ies ye ? 
Thae bonie bairn-time, Hcav'n has lent; 

Still higher may they heeee ye 
In bliss, till fate some day is sent, 

For ever to releose ye 

Frae care that day, 

X. 

For you, young potentate o' Wales^ 

I tell your Highness fairly, 
Down pleasure's stream, wi' swelling sails; 

I'm tauld ye're driviniJ- rarely ; 
But some day ye may gnaw your nails, 

An' curse your folly sairly, 
That e'ei* ye brak Diana's pale* 

Or rattl'd dice wi' Charlie 

By night or day. 

XL 
Yet aft a ragged cowt's been kno\vi) 
To mak a noble aiver ; 



C ^8 ) 

^o, ye may doucely fill a tbronc» 

For a* their clish-mu claver ; 
There's him* at ^gincourt wha shoncj 

Few better were or braver ; 
And yet, wi* funny, queer Sir Jo/myf 

lie was an unco sliaver 

For monie a day, 

XIL 
For you, ri^r^it rev'rend Ost?aburifj 

N'rUJC S(-ts the laivv'i'lfrvc sweeteiv 
Altlu)' a ribbon at your luo- 

W'au been a dress completer : 
As \c disown yon paufi^hty dog 

'J'hat bears tu' keys of Peter, 
Then, swiih ! an* y^ct a wife to !iug. 

Or, trouth ! ye'il stain the mitre 
borne luckless day. 

XIII. 

Younp;, royal Tamj Brctkn^ I learn, 

Ye've latelv cmwQ alhwart her; 
A {glorious ,(ra//V:/ \ ^tem an* stern, 

Weel ri:j:t;*d for V<-t}us bartor ; 
Bui first liant^ out, thut slie'il discern, 

Your hymeneal charter. 
Then heave alxvird your grapple airn. 

An* large up(>* her quarter, 

Come fuil that day. 

XIV. 
Ye, lastly, bonie blossoms a*, 

Ye royal lasses dainty. 
Heaven muk you gude as weel as braw, 

An' p.ie you lads a-plenty : 
IJut sneer na jlrifish doys awa*, 

For kings are unco scant ay ; 

* King Hetiry V, 

t Sir John Falsiaffy vide Shakespeare, 
4 Alluding to the iiciV3 Jiajier accout ufa certain rgyat 
sailor's amour. 



( 59 ) 

An' German gentles are but «wa*, 
They're better just than want ay 
On onie day. 

XV. 
God bless you a* I consider now, 

Ye'rc unco niuckle datitct ; 
But, *ere the course o* life be through. 

It may be bitter sautet : 
An* I hae seen their coffgie fou, 

Tliat yet hae tarrow't at it ; 
But or the dar/ was done, I trow, 

The Juggic they hae clautct 

Fu* clean that day. 

THE VISION. 

DUAW FIRST.* 

THE sun had clos*d the winter day, 
The curlers quat their roarint^ play, 
An* hunger'd maukin taen her way 

To kail-yards {jreen, 
While faithless snaws ilk step betray 

Wharc she has been. 

The thresher's weary /7mg-i«-rr(?e 
The lce-lan£j; day had tired me ; 
And when the day had closM his e'e, 

Far i* the west, 
Ben i* the a/ienccy rii^ht pensivelie, 

I gaed to rest. 

There, lanely, by the inpjle-cheek, 
I sat and eyM the spewinj^ re<,'k, 
That fill'd wi* hoast-provokinjj smcek. 
The auld clay bij^i^in j 
...11 - . I . .1. . t» I ■' 

• Duan, a term of Osniari* s fr,r the differ ent iHvitmiM. 
of a digrcMtive fioem. See his Cath-Loda, vol fi. of 
M^Pherson'^ translation. 



( 6f) ) 

Ah' heard the restless rattans squeak 
\bout the riggin. 

All in this mottie, misty dime, 
I backward mus/d on wasted time, 
How I bad spent my youthfu' primCj 

An' done nae-thing, 
But stringin blethers up in rhyme, 

For foots to sing. 

Had I to prude arlvice but harkit, 
I might, by this, hae led a market, 
Or strutted in a bank, an* clarkit 

My cash account: 
While here, half-mad, half-fed, half-sarkit, 

Is a' th' amount. 

I started, mutt*ring, blockhead ! cooW 
And heav*d on high my waukit loof. 
To swear by a' yon starry roof, 

Or some rash aith 
That I, henceforth would be rhyme^firor)/ 

Till my last breath— 

When click ! the string t)*^ sneck did draw; 
And jee ! the door gaed to the wa* ; 
An* by my ingle-lowe I saw, 

Now bleezin bright, 
A tight, outlandish Hizzie^ braw, 

Come full in sight. 

Ye need na doubt, I held my whisht ; 
The infant aith, half-form'd, was crusht ^ 
I glowr*d as eerie's Td been dusht 

In some wild glen ; 
When sweet, like modest worth, she blusht, 

And stepped ben. 

Green, slender, leaf-clad holly boughs 
Were twisted, graccfu*, round her brows, 
1 took her for some Scofinh muscy 

By that same token ; 
An* come to stop thdse reckless vows, 
Wou*d soon be broken. 



( 61 ) 

A * hair-brain'd, sentimental trace* 
Was strongly marked in her face: 
A wildly-witty, rustic grace 

Shone full upon her ; 
Her eye, ev*n turn'd on empty space, 

Beam'd keen with honor. 

Down flow'd her robe, a tartan sheen, 
Till half a leg was scrimply seen^ 
And such a leg ! my bonie Jean 

Could only peer it; 
Sae straught, sae taper, tight and clean, 

Nanc else came near it. 

Her mantle large, of greenish hue, 
■My gazing wonder chiefly drew ; 
Deep lights and shades^ bold-mingling thr^w 

A lustre grand, 
And seem'd, to my astonish'd view, 
A nt)dl known land. 

Here, Hvers in the sea were lost ; 
There, mountains to the skies were tost : 
Here, tumbling billows mark'd the coast, 

With surging foam ; 
There, distant shone art's lofty boast. 
The lordly dome. 

Here Doon po\ir'd down his far-fetch*d floocis; 
There, well-fed Irwine stately thuds: 
Auld hermit Ayr staw thro' his woods, 

On to the shore ; 
And many a lesser torrent scuds, ► 

With seeming roar. 

Low, in a sandy valley spread, 
An ancient borough rearM her head 
Still, as in Scottish story read. 

She boasts a race. 
To evVy nobler virtue bred. 

And poliah'd grace. 

By stately tow'r or palace fair, 
Or :^x\wv, pendent in the air, 
ft 



( 6^ ) 

Bold stems of heroes here and there, 

I could discern ; 
Some seem*d to muse, some seem'd to dartf 

With feature stern. 

My heart did glowing transport feel, 
To see a race* heroic wheel, 
And brandish round the deep-dy*d steel 

In sturdy blows ! 
While back-recoiling seem'd to reel 

Their southern foes. 

His Country's SAViouRf, mark'him welli 
Bold Richardton*s\ heroic swell, 
The chief on Sark^ who glorious fell) 

In high command ; 
And he whom ruthless fates expel 

His native land. 

There, where a scepter'd Pictish shade }f 
J^talk'd round his ashes lowly laid, 
i mark'd a martial race pourtray'd 
In colours strong ; 
liold soldier-featur'd, undismayed 

They strode along. 
Thro* many a wild, romantic grovelf, 
Near many a hermit-fancy'd cove, 

* The Uallaces. 

t miliam Waliace, 

\ .4dam IVallace of Eichardton^ cousin to the immortal 
fireserryer of Scottish indefiendence, 

§ Wallace^ Laird of Cragie\ who rjas second in com- 
vmnd^ under Douglas^ FmtI cf OTrncndy at thefamotis bat- 
fie on the bank'i cf Sark^fovght am>o 1448. 7 hat gloria 
Otis victorij 'ivas princiftally onving to the judicious conduct 
mnd intrefiid valour of the gallant Laird of Craigie^ Kvho 
died of his ii'ounds after the action. 

jl Coilusy king of the Picts^from luhom the district of 
Kyle i» said to take its name., lies buried, as tradition iaxj*^ 
near the family seat cf the Montgomeries of Coils-feld^ 
ivhere his burial place is still shown. 

T Parkskiwming, the seat vf the Lord JziStict'Clerk, 



( 6» ) 

j^Fit haunts for friendship or for love, 

In musing mood) 
Au Qi^ed Judge, I saw him rove, 

Dispensing good. 

With deep-struck reverential awe* 
The learned sirf and son I saw. 
To Nature's God, and Nature's law 

They gave their lore.. 
This, all its source and end to draw, 
That, to adore. 

Brydone's brave wardf 1 well could spy. 
Beneath old Scotia\ smiling eye ; 
Who call'd on fame, low standing by. 

To hand him on, 
Where many a patriot-name on higji 
And hero shone. 

DUAN SECOND. 

WITH musing-deep, astonish'd star^, 
I vicw'd the heav'niy-seeming./a/r; 
A whisp'ring throb did witness bear 

Of kindred sweet, 
When with an elder sister's air 

She did me greet. 

* All hail ! my own inspired bard ! 

* In me thy native muse regard! 

* Nor longer mourn thy fate is liard, 

* Thus poorly low i 

* I come to give thee such reward 

* As we bestow, 

< Know, the great genius of this land 

* Has many a light, arial band, 

* Who, all beneath his high commandj 

' Harmoniously, 

• Catrme, the seat of the late doctor y anUJiresent pr^' 
feasor Stewart. 

t Colonel FuUartoTf* 



( 64 ) 

' As arts cr arms they understand, 

* Their labours ply. 

* They Scotia's race among them share ; 
' Some fire the soldier on to dare ; 

' Some rouse the patriot up to bare 

* Corniption*s heart : 
*^Some teach the bard, a darling carCt 

The tuneful art! 

* *Mong swelling floods of reeking gorfe, 

* Tliey ardent, kindling spirits pour ; 
' Or, mid the venal senate*s roar, 

' TheY> sightless, stan4> 

* To mend the honest patriot-lore, 

* And grace the hand. 

* And when th^ bard, or hoary sagej 

* Charm or instruct the future age, 
' They bind the wild, poetic rage 

* In energy, 

' Or point the inconclusive page 

* Full on the eye. 

* Hence FuUarton the brave and young ; 

* Hence Dejnpsier*s zeal-inspired tongue ; 
" Hence, sweet harmonious Beat tie sung 

< His " Minstrel lays j'' 

* Or tore, with noble ardour stung, 

* The sceptic\ bays. 

* To lower orders are assigned 

? The humbler ranks of Hum an -kind, 
*• The rustic Bard, the lab'ring Hind, 

* The Artisan ; 

* All chuse, as various they're inclin*d, 

* The various man. 

* When yellow waves the heavy grain, 

' The threat'ning storm some, strongly, rein j 

* Some teach to meUorate the plain, 

* With tillage-skill ; 

' And some instruct the shepherd-train, 

* Blvthe o'er tlie hill. 



( 65 ) 

* Some hint the lover's harmless wile ; 

* Some grace the maiden's artless smile ; 

* Some sooth the lab'rer's weary roil, 

* For humble gainsi 
'And make his cottage scenes beguile 

* His cares and pains. 

' Some, bounded to a district-space, 

* Explore at large, man's infant race, 
'To mark the embryotic trace 

* Of rustic Bard ; 

* And careful note each op'ning grace, 

* A guide and guard 

^ Oftheficam T-^CoUa my name i 
' And this district as mine I claim, 
' Where once the Camfibelh^ chiefs of fam^, 

< Held ruling power : 
i 1 mark'd thy embryo tuneful flame, 

< Thy nrital ^our. 

< With future hope, I oft would gazQ, 

* Fond on thy little early ways, 

^ Thy rudcly-caroll'd, chimin^- phrase, 

* Tr uncout'i rhymes, 

* Fir'd at the simple, artless kys 

* Of other times. 

' I saw thee seek the sounding shor^ 

* Delighted with the dashin?:;; roar ; 

* Or when the north his fleecy store 

* Drove tbio* the sky, 

* I s?.w grim nature's visap;e boar 

* Struck thy young eye.. 

' Or when the deep green-mantl'd earth 
< Warm cherisli'd tv'ry flow'ret's birth, 

* And joy and music pouring forth 

* In ev'ry grove, 
' I saw thee eye the gen'ral mhlh 

* With boundless love. 

* When ripcn'd fields, and azure skies, 
'CiaU'd ibrth the reaper's rustling noise, 

G 2 



* I saw thee leave their evening joySj 

* And lonely stalk, 

* To vent thy bosom's swelling rise 

' In pensive walk. 

* When youthful love, warm-blushing, strong, 
' Keen-shiv'ring shot thy nerves along, 

* Those accents, grateful to thy tongue, 

' Th' adored Mvne^ 
*• I taught thee how to pour in song, 

' To soothe thy flame. 

' I saw thy pulse*s maddening play, 

* Wild send thee pleasure's devious way, 

* Misled by fancy *s meteor- ray, 

* By passion driven j 

* But yet the lig/ii that led astray 

* Was light from hfeaven. 

< I taught thy manners-painting strains> 

* The loves, the ways of simple swains, 

* Till now, o'er all my wide domains 

* Thy fame extends ; 

* And some, the pride of Coila^s plains^ 

* Become thy friends. 

^ Thou canst not learn, nor can I show, 
' To paint with 7'/iom/ison's landscape-glow ; 
' Or wake the bosom-mehing throe, 

' With Shcrsion€*s art ; 
*'0r pour, with Gray, the moving flow 

* Warm on the heart, 

' Yet all beneath th' unrivall'd rose, 
' The lowly daisy sweetly blows ; 

* Tho' large the forest's monarch throws 

' His army shade, 
'Yet green the juicy hawthorn grows, 

* Adown the glade ; 

* They never murmur nor repine ; 

* Strive in thy humble sphere to slVme ; 
" And trust me, not Poto<st\s mine, 

* Nor king's regard? 



( 67 ) 

< Can give a bliss o'ermal<:l»ing thincj 
' A rustic ^>ani, 

* To give my counsels all in dfie, 
^ 1 hy tuneful flame still careful I'anl 
' Preserve the Dignifu of ^fan,' 

* With sfiul erect j 
^ And trust, the Univrrml Plan 

' Will all protect. 

' Jnd wear thou tfilt* — she solemn said^ 
And bound the Holh/ n^v^v^'vny head : 
The polish'd leaves, and berries red) 

Did rustling play ; 
And, like a passing tliouuht, she fled 

In light away". 



JD DRESS TO THE UJVCO GUDE$ 

Or the rigidly Righteous. 

My soHj these maxims make a rule^ 

And lumji them ay thcgither 
The Rigid Righteous is a fool, 

The Rigid Wise ardiher : 
The cleanest corn that <?Vr ivas dighty 

May have some /lyles o' ca^ in; 
So ne*er a fellow-creature slight 

F')y- random Jits o* daffm. 

Solomon-'-'Kccles. ch. vii. A'e:\ 16, 

O ye wha are sae gude yoursel, 

Sae piotis and sae holy, 
Ye've nought to do but mark and tell 

Your neebour's fauts and folly ! 
Wluise life is like a weel gaun mill, 

Supply'd wi* store o* water. 
The lieapet happer's ebbing still, 

And still the clap playo clatter. 



( 68 } 

II. 

Hear rnc, ye venerable core, 

As counsel for poor mortals, 
That frequent pass douce wisdom's door 

For glaikit folly's portals ; 
1, for their thoughtless, careless sakes, 

Would here propone defences, 
Their donsie tricks, their black mistakesj 

Their failings and mischances. 

III. 

Ye see your state wi* their*s compar'd, 

And shudder at the nifFer, 
But cast a moment's fair reeardj 
What maks the mighty differ; 
•t)iscount what scant occasion gave, 

Ihat purity ye pride in, 
And (what's aft mair than a' the lave) 
•• Your better art o* hiding. 

IV. 

Think, when your castigated pulse 

Gies now and then a wallop, 
What ragings must his veins convulse, 

That still eternal gallop 
Wi' wind and tide fair i' your tail, 

Right on ye scud your sea-way j 
But in the teeth o' baith to sail, 

It maks an unco lee-way 

V, 
See social life and glee sit down, 

Al! ioyous and unthlnkin;^', 
'TilV quite transmu^yrlfy'd, they're grown 

D'/!^r!\]chery and drinking : 
C M'Otild they stay to calculate 

Th' eternal consequences ; 
Or your m- re dreaded hell tostatd, 

D-mnation of expenses ) 
VI, 
Yejiigh, exoited, virtuous c'iames, 

Ty'd up in godly laces, 



( 6^ ) 

Before ye gie poor frailty name^, 

Suppose a change o' cases ; 
A dear lov'd lad, convenience snuf, 

A treacherous inclination— 
But, let me whisper i' your lug, 

Ye*re aiblins nae temptation. 

VII. 

Then gently scan your brother maix, 

Still gentler sister woman ; 
Tho* they may gang a kennin wrang, 

To step aside is human : 
One point must still be greatly dark, 

The moving why they do it : 
And just as lamely can ye mark, 

How far perhaps they rue it, 

VIIT. 

Who made the heart, 'tis he alone 

Decidedly can try us. 
He knows each chord — its various ton^, 

Eacli spring-— its various bias ; 
Then at the balance let's be mute, 

We never can adjust it ; 
What's rfowe, We partly may computer 

But know not what's resisted. 

TAM SAMSON'S * ELEGY. 

^n honest man's the noblest ivork of Ood. Pope. 

HAS auld Kilmarnock seen the Deil ? 
Or great M'******H thrawn his heel ! 

* When this nvorthy old sportsman wunt out last muir- 
foivl ;.'a>ion, he sufifiostd it was to de, in Ossian*s fi/trase, 
< the l.:3t of his fields ;* avd ex/ire&sed an ardmt ivish to 
die and be buried in the muirs. On this hint the author 
comfLosed his elegy and efiitaph. 

t jA certain preacher^ a great favourite with the mil' 
lion, vide the Ordination, stanza II. 



^ 70 ) 

Or R*******»| again grown wcel, 

To preach an* read ? 
'* Na, waur than a' !* cries ilka chicl, 

Tarn Samson*s dead 1 

Kilni'imock lang may grunt an' granc, 
An' sigh, an* sab, an' greet. her lane, 
An* deed her bairns, man, wife, an* weai^ 

In mourning weed ; 
To death, she's dearly paid the kane, 
Tarn Samson's dead ! 

The brethren o* the mystic level 
May hing their head in woefu' bevel, 
While by their nose the tears will revej^ 

Like ony be^d ; 
Death's gicn the lodge an unco devel, 

Tiint Siimson's dead i 

When winter muffles up his cloak^ 
And binds the mire like a rock ; 
When to the lought the curitrs flock, 
Wi* gleesonie speed, 
Wha will they station at the cock, 

Tam Samson's dead ? 

He was the king o* a' the core, 
To guard, or draw, or wick a bore, 
Or up the rink like JeMi roar 

In time o' need ; 
But now he lags on death's hcg-acore^ 
Tam Samson's dead ! 

Now sale the stately sawmont sail, 
And I routs bedropp'd wi' crimson hail, 
And etls weel ken'd for souple tail, 

And geds for greed, 
Since dark in deat^'s^vA-crd'e/we wail 

Tam Samson dead ! 

* Another preacher^ an equal favourite luith thefevu 
tvho nvas at that time ailing, For him see also the OreH^ 
nq{ion^ stofiza IX, 



( 71 ) 

Rejoice ye Krring paitricks a'; 
Ye cootie moorcocks, crousely crawi 
Ye Tnaukin*s, cock your fud fu* braw, 

Withoutcn dread ; 
Your mortal fae is iiow a^fa% 

Tarn Samson's dead I 

That woefu' morn be ever mourn'd 
Saw him in shootin graith adorn*d, 
While pointers round impatient burn'd, 

Frae couples freed ; 
But, Och ! he gaed and ne'er return*d ' 

Tarn Samson's dead ! 

In vain auld age his body batters ; 
In vain the gout his ancles fetters 1 
In vain the burns came down like waters, 

An acre braid! 
Now ev*ry auld wife, greetin, clatters, 

Tam Samson's dead ! 

0\vre mony a weary hag he limpit^ 
An' ay thctither shot he thumpit, 
'Till coward death behint him jumpit, 

Wi' deadly feide ; 
No^Y he proclaims, wi' tout o' trumpet, 

Tam Samson's dead ! 

When at his heart he felt the dagger, 
He reel'd his wonted bottle swagger, 
But yet he drew the mortal trigger 

Wi' wecl-aim'd heed! 
' L— d, five !* he cry'd, an* owre did stagger 

Tam Samson's dead; 

Ilk hoary hunter monrn'd a brlther ; 
Ilk sportsman youth bemoan'd a father; 
Yon auld gray stan.', amang the heather, 

Marks out his head, 
Wharc Burns has wrote, in rhyming blelber. 

Tam Samson's dead! 

There low he lijs, in tasting rest ; 
*Pcrbaps upon his moulrrring breast 



( 72 > 

Some spitefu' muiifowl bigs her nest, 
To hatch an breed ; 
Alas I nac mair he'll them molest 1 

Tam Samson's dead I 

When August winds the heather wave, 
And sportsmen wander by yon grave, 
Three vollies let his mem'ry crave 

O* pouther an* lead, 
'Till echo answer frae her cave, 

Tarn Samson's dead. 

Heav'n rest his soul, whare'er it bel 
Is th* wish o' mony mae than me ; 
He had twa fauts, or may be three, 

Yet what remeadi 
Ae social, honest man want we ? 

Tarn Samson's dead! 



THE EPITAPH. 



Tam Samson's weel-worn clay here lie^. 

Ye cantinp; zealots spare him ! 
f f iioncst worth in heaven rise, 

Ye'il mend or ye win near him.^ 

PER CONTRA. 

Go, tamt, an' canter like a filly 
Thro' a' the streets an' neuks o' Killie^* 
Tell ev'ry social, honest billie 

To cease his grievin, 
For yet) unskaiti^.*d by death's gleg gullic, 
7am Sanu<on*^ livin. 

* Klllie /* a fihra"'' *^"' rn^ntry folks somctbvcs nf>i? 0^ 
Kilmarnock. 



( 73 :i 

THE following poem will, by many readers, be 
^vcll enough understood ; but for the sake of those who 
are unacquainted with the manners and traditions of 
ihe country where the scene is cast, notes are added to . 
give some account of the principal charms and spelte 
of that night, so bij^ with prophesy to the peasantry in 
the west of Scotland. The passion of prying into futu- 
rity makes a striking pai't of the history of human na- 
ture in its rude state in all ages and nations ; and it may- 
be some entertainment to a philisophic mind, if any 
such should honor the autlior with a perusal, to see the 
remains of it among the more unenlightened in our own. 



HALLOWEEN." 



Yes ! let thf rich deride^ the proud disdain^ 
The simple pleafiurts of the iowly train ; 
To me more dear^ congenial to my hearty 
One native charm^ than all the ^loas of art. 

Goldsmith. 

r. 

UPON that night, when fairies liglit, 

On Cassillis Doivrians f dance, 
Or owre the lays, in splendid b[aze» 

On sprightly coursers prance; 
Or for ColecH the rout is ta'en, 

Beneath the moon's pale beams ; 

* Lc thought to br a mghr lyhen rjitchrf.'!, devils, arid 

:her mischirf-makitig bci7ign^ art- all abroad on thtir baue- 

"iiL -niidnight errands ; particidurly these cerial people, the 

Fairies, arc i?(dd on that nighc^, to held a grand anniver* 

i-zry. 

t C^yf(i-:n iitfly ronxantic rocky green hills, in the ncig^ 
■Turhood of I he uncitnt scut of the Earls ofCa-isillis. 
n 



( 74 ) 

There, up the cove* to stray an* rove 
Amang the rocks and streams 
To sport that night. 

II. 

Amang the bonie winding banks, 

Where Doon rins, wimplin, clear. 
Where BruceI ance rul'd the martial ranks* 

An' shook his Carrick spear, 
Some merry, friendly, countra folks, 

Together did convene, 
To burn their nits, an* fiou t)icir stocks. 

An* hand their Halloween 

Fu' blythc that night. 

III. 
The lasses feat, an* cleanly neat, 

Mair braw than when they're fine ; 
They're faces blythe, fu' sweetly kythe, 

Hearts leal, an* warm, an* kin* : 
The lads sac trig, wi* wooer-babs, 

Weel knotted on their garten. 
Some unco blate, an' some wi' gabs. 

Gar lasses hearts gang startin 

Whiles fast that night. 

IV. 

Then first and foremost, thro* the kail, 
Tlieir stocks % maun a' be sought ance ; 

They stcek their een', an' grape an' wale, 
For mtickle anes and straught anes. 

• ^i noted cavern near Colran'hou^e, called the Cove of 
Colran;; which, as Cafsillis Downanssisfawedin coim' 
try s tori/ far being afavoxirite hatnit of J'airiea. 

t TAe famous family of that namc^ the ancestors ofRo- 
nEJif, the great deliverer of his country-i tvere JtoJ'ls of 
a rriCfC. 

\ 1 he first ceremony of Hallovceen is^ pulling each c> 
stock* or filant of kail. ITiey must go out, hand in hard, 
with eyes shut, and f mil the first they meet with : Jts be- 
ing big cr little^ straight or crooked, is prophetic cf the 



( 75 ) 

Pool' havVcl Will fell aff the drift. 

An* wander'd through the bow-kaUj 
An* pou*t, for want o' better shift, 

A runt was like a sow-tail, 

Sae bow*t that night. 

V. 

Then, strauglit or crooked, yiid ornanej 

They roar and cry a throu'tiier; 
The vera wee things, todlin rin 

Wi* stocks out-owre their shouther; 
An ' gif the cuatoc^s sweet or sour, 

Wi* joctelegs they taste them ; 
Syne coziely, aboon the door, 

Wi* canie care they've plac*d them 
To lie that night. 
VI. 
The lasses staw frac 'mang them a*, 

To pou their stalks o' com* ; 
But Rab slips out, an' jinks about^ 

fiehint the muckle thorn : 
He grippet Nelly hard an' fast j 

Loud skirl'd a* the lasses ; 

isize and ahafie of the grand object of all their sfiells-^ 
the husband or wife. If any yird, or earthy stick to the 
root, that is tocher, or fortune ; and the taste of the cus- 
loc, that is, t/ie heart of the stem, is indicative of the natU' 
ral temfier and disfiosition. Lastly , the stems, or, to give 
them their ordinary at^t^ellation, the runts, are fdacrd 
somewhere above the head of the door; and the Christian 
names of the fieofile whom chance brings, into the house, 
arc, according to the priority of Jilucing the runts the 
names in ^uestiofi, 

* They go to the bam yard, audfiull each, at three several 
times, a stalk of oats. If the third stalk wants the top- 
pickle ; that is, the grain at the top. of the stalks the f tarty 
in question ivHl come te the marriage bed aiiy thing but a 
maid. 



i 76 ) 

liiM lier (cfi^fiickle maisl was lo?t, 
When kudlin in llie fausc-housei: 
Wi' him that night. 

VII 

Tlie aulu r;\:(lcwife'g weel-hoordet w/Vd 

Arc round an* round divided, 
An' mony lads and lasses fates 

Are there that night decided : 
Some kindle couthie side by side* 

An* burn thei^itlier trinnly ; 
.Some start awa wi* saucy pride, 

And jump out owre the ciiimlie 
I*\i' liigh that night. 

VIII. 
Jean slips in twa wi* tentie c'e ; 

Wha *twas, she v;adna tell 
liUt this is ./of A:, an* this is nir, 

Sht says in to hersel : 
He blccz*d owre her, an' she owre hina^ 

As they wad ne'er mair ])art, 
''Till fulT! he stalled up the lum, 

An' Jean iiad e'en a sair heart 
To see't that nigiit. 

IX. 

Poor Willie, wi' his ho'tv-kaU rur.t^ 

Was brunt wi' primsie Mallie ; 
An* Mallie, nae doubt, took the drunt, 

To be compar'd to Willie: 

f inirn the corn is in a doubtful state, by being too grerr.j^ 
cr vjft, the stack 'builder, by tnfana of old timber^ Isfc. 
makes a large aftartment in his slack, iviih an opening in 
the side which is fairest exposed to the 'unnd: this he calls 
ft fause-house. 

\ BurviJig the nuts is afavoirite charm. They name 
fhr ladaiid lass to each fmrticularnut, as they laij them in 
the fire, and accordingly as they burn quietly together, or 
fsfartjrofn beside one another, the course and issue of the 
courtship tvill be. 



( 7r ) 

Mall's iiit lap out "wi* pridefu' fling, 

An' lier ain fit it brunt it ; 
While Willie lap, and swoor by jing 

'Twas just the way he wanted 
To be that night. 

X. 

Nell had the fause-house in her min', 

She pits hersel an* Rob in ; 
In lovine: bleeze they sweetly join, 

'Till white in ase they're sobbin : 
Neirs heart was dancin at the view, 

She whisper'd Rob to leuk for't: 
Rob, stowlins, prie'd her Iwnie mou, 

Fu' cozie in the neuk for*t, 

Unseen that night. 

XL 
But Merran sat behint their backs, 

Her thoughts on Andrew Bell ; 
She lea'es then\ gashin at their crackii, 

\u* slips out by hersel: 
She thro* the yard the nearest taks. 

An* to the kiln she goes then. 
An' darklins grapit for the bauks. 

An* in the bluc-cluc* throws then, 
Right fear't that night,. 
XII. 
An* ay she win't, an* ay she swat^ 

I wat she made nae jaukin ; 
'Till something held within the pat, 

Gude L — ^d ! how she was quakin ! 

• Whoever ivou/dy with auccevs^ try this 9fieU, ?»u^i 
atrietly observe these dircctiont^ Steal out all alone, to the 
kiln, aridy darkling^ throiv into the pot, a clue of blue yarng 
wind it in a neiu clue off the old one ; and towards the lat' 
ter end, nomethin^ will htUd the thread; wha bauds ? i. e, 
who holds ? an answer will be returned from the kiln-*^ 
p'ty by naming the christian and simame of your future, 
sfiouse, 

h2 



( 78 ) 

But whether *twas the Deil himsel. 

Or whether *twas a bauk*en*, 
Or whether it was Andrew Bell, 

She did na wait on talkin 

To spier that night. 

XIII. 

Wee Jenny to her Grannie says, 

* Will ye go wi' me, erraunie ! 

* I'll eat the afifde* at the glass, ■ 

* I gat frae uncle Johnie :' 
She faff 't her pipe wi* sic a lunt. 

In wrath she was sae vap'rin, 
She Rolic't na, an aizle brunt 
Her braw new worset apron 

Out thro' tfeat night. 

XIV. 

* Ye little skelpie-limmer's face! 

' I daur you try sic sportin, 

* As seek the foul Thief ony place, 

* For him to spae your fortune : 

* Nae doubt but you may get a flight i 

* Great cause ye hae to fear it ; 

-* For monie a ane has gotten a fright. 

* An' liv'd an' di'd rieleeret 

* On sic a night, 

XV. 

' Ac hairst -fore the Sherra-moor, 
' I mind'l ;\s weel's yestreen, 

* I waf a giipey then, I'm sure, 

* 1 was r.ae past fyfteen: 

*The simmtr had been cauld an' wat, 

* An' stuff was unco' green ; 

* 7aks a candle, and go alone to a looking-glass ; eat <Qt 
0.fiple before it^ and some traditiojis say, yon should co?nb 
I! our hair all the time ; the face of your covjvgal compan- 
ion, to be, 'a)iH be eecn in the glass as {f peeping over i/oitr- 
shoulder. 



^ ^9 } 

*• An* ay a rantin kirn ^ve gat, 

* And just on Halloiveen 

* It fell that night. 

XVI. 

* Our stibble-ri\^ was Rab M'GraeB; 

' A clever, sturdy fallow j 

* Has sin' gat Eppie Sim wi* wean, 

* That liv'd in Achmacalia : 

' lie gat Hemp-seed^* I mind it wee!., 

* An* he made unco light o't; 

* But monie a day was by himscl, 

* He was sae sairly frighted 

* That vera night.* 

XVII. 

Then up gat fechtin Jamie Fleck, 

An' he swoor by his conscience, 
That he could sow hemp, seed a peck > 

For it was a* but nonsense ; 
The auld gudeman raught down the pock. 

An* out a handfu' gicd him ; 
Syne bad him slip frac 'mang the folk. 

Sometime when nae ane see'd him, 
An* try't that night. 

XVIII. 

He marches thro* amang the stacks, 

Tho* he was something sturtin ; 
The gruip. he for a harrow taks-. 

An' haurls at his curpin ; 

* Sfeal ozit, unfirrcchrd, ar.d fioisf a handful of hemp if 
fipcd ; harvoimnpi; it v/ith any thing you can conveniently 
draw afier you. Refteat^ now and th^n, * Ilemp-seed I 
saw thee ; and him for her) that is to be my true love, 
czTne after me and pou th^e' l^ook over your hft- shouh 
der and you vjill see th'^ ap.prarance of the person invok- 
ed^ in the attitude cf pulling h"mp. ficme traditions say, 
* c-^m" afer ?ne^ and shavj thre.^ that /.?, show thyself; in 
wh'^h ca'^e it simhiy appeal's. Others omit the hnrrcrt'}- 
ing and sayy * come after me^ and ha>'rj%v thee^' 



( iiO ) 

An* cvVy now an* then, he says, 

* Hcmp-aeed I saw thee, 

* An* her that is to be my lass, 

• Come after me, and draw thee 

* As fast this night/ 

XIX. 

He whistrd up Lord Lenox* march, 

To keep his courage chcary ; 
Altho* his hair bc^an to arch, 

He was sae fley*cl an* eerie : 
Till presently he hears a squeakj 

An* then a granc an* gruntle ; 
He by his shouthcr gae a keek. 

An* tumbrd wi* a wintle 

Out-owre that night. 

XX. 

He roar'd a horrid murder-shout, 

In dreadfii* desperation ! 
An' young an* auld came runnin out» 

To hear the sad narration : 
He swoor *twas bilchin Jean M'Craw, 

Or crouchie Merran Humphie, 
'Till stop ! she trotted thro* them a* ; 

An* wha was it but Grumfihie, 
Astcer that night! 

XXI. 

Meg fain wad to the barn gaen, 
To iiin three wec/its o* naeifung ;* 

* This charm viust likewise be performed^ unfiercezved, 
and alone. You go to the barn, and o/ien bcth doort^ tO' 
A';>?.§' thc7n off the hinges^ if fiossible ; for thtre is danger, 
that the being> about to afi/iear^ may ahut the doorsy and 
do you so7f:e jjiiac/uef. Then take that instrument Uited 
in ivinnoiving the corn, 'which in our country dialect^ we 
call a wecht ; and go through all the attitudes of letting 
down corn against the wind. Beficat it three rimes ; and 
(he third time, an apftaritian wiU fiasa through the barrt'y 



( ^1 ) 

liiU for to meet the deil lier lane> 

^hii pat hut little faith in ; 
She i^ies the herd a pickle nits, ** , 

An' twa red cheekil apples, 
To watcliN while for the hirn she ^ity 

In hopes to sec Tarn Kipples 
That ve!"a niglit. 

XXII. 
• She turns the key wi* cannie thraw, 
An' owre the threshold ventures i 
But first on Sawnie c^ies a ca', 
S\Tie ba-iildly vn she enters : 
A raitort rattl'd up the wa', 

An' she cry'd I> — d preserve her ! 
An* ran thro' midden-liole an' a*, 
An' pray'd wi' zeal and fervour, 
Fu' fast that night. 

XXIII. 

They hoy't out Will, wi' sair advice ; 

They hecht him some fine braw ane ; 
It chanc'd the xfark V.'tfaddovi^d thrice^* 

Was tirnmer-propt for thrawm ; 
lie taks a swirlie, ai;Jd moss-oak. 

For some black, t^rousomc carlin ; 
An' loot a winze; and drew a stroke^ 

'Till skin in blypes cam haurlin 
All's nievesthat night. 

XXI v^ 

A wanton widow Leezie was, 
As canty as a kittlen , 

m nf thr iifindy dooVy and out at the other ^ having both 
th fi nircs in question^ and the afifiearance or retinucy 
7//C/ -.hing the emfiloyment or station in life. 

* Take an o/ifiort unity qfgoin^, unnoticed^ to a Bearg 
s^ick, and fat horn it three times round. The last fathom 
of the lust time^ you ivill catch in your arms the nji/ieav^ 
ancc qf your future coryugal yoke fellow. 



% 32 ) 

But ocli I that nig^ht, arnang the sha>^, 

She got a fearfu* settlinT 
She thro* the whins, an* by the cairn, 

An* owre the hill gacd scuevin, 
Whare th^ee laird* a lands met at a burn^* 

To dip her left sark-sleeve in, 

Was bent th^t night. 

XXV. 

Whiles owre a linn the burnic play% 

As thro* the glen it wimpi*t ; 
Whyles round a rocky scar it strays ; 

Whyles in a wiel it dimpl't ; 
Whyles glitter'd to the nightly ray^ 

Wi* bickering, dancing dazzle ; 
Whyles cookit underneath the braes, 

Below the spreading hazlc, 

Unseen that night. 

XXVI. 

Amang the brachcns on the bra^, 

Between her an' the moon. 
The Deil, or else an outler quey, 

Gat up an* gae a cnjon : 
Poor Leezie*s heart maist lap the hool ^ 

Near Lav'rock-htiglit she junipit, 
But mist a fit, an* in tht/iool 

Out-owrt the lugs she plumpit, 

Wi' a plunge that night. 

• You go cut, one or more, for thia is a social spells to a 
south running s/iring or rivulet, iv/iere * three lairds' lands 
mett^'' and difi your bft shirt sleeve. Go to bed in sight 
af ajire, and hang your ivet sleeve btfort it to rf/n/. Lie 
aivake ; and, some time near inidiiight, an apJ:arition^ 
having the exact Jigure of the grand object in t/uestion, 
will come and titrn the sleeve, as )/'to dry the other stdc 



( «s ) 

XXVII. 
In oHer, on the clean hearth-stanc, 

The luggies three* are ranged, 
And ev*ry time great care is ta*en, 

To see them duly changed : 
Auld imcle John, wha wedlock's joys 

Sin' Mar'a-yrar did desire, 
Because he gat the toom-dish thrice, 

He hcav'd them on the fire 

In wrath that night. 

XXVIII. 
Wi' merry sangs, an* friendly cracks. 

I wat they did na weary ; 
An* unco tales, an* funnie jokes, 

Their sports were cheap an* cheary ; 
'Till buttered so*m»^i wi* fragrant lunt, 

Set a' their gabs a-steerin ; 
Syne, wi* a social glass o' strunt, 

They parted aff careerin 

Fu' blythe that night. 

THE AULD FARMER'S NEW-YEAR MORNING 

Salutation to his auld Mab» Maqgie, 

On giving her the accustomed ripji of com to hansel m 
the netV'yrar. 

A Gude JVeiv-year T wish thee Maggie! 
Hae, there's a ripfi to thy auld baggie : 

* Take three dishes ; put clean water in one-, foul iva- 
ter in another^ leave the third empty : blindfold a person, 
and lead him to the hearth ivhere the dishes are ranged ; 
he (or she) dips the Iff hand : if by chance in the clean 
watery the future husband or wife nvill come to the bar 
of matrimonii a maid ; if in the jfouU « widow ; if in the 
^mpty dishy itforetells, with equal certainty^ no marriage 
nt all. It is repeated three timrs, and every time the 
arrangement of the dishes is altered. 

t Sowenty with butter instead of milk fo them^ is al- 
ways the Halloween Supper. 



k ^4 ) 

Tho^thou's howe-backit, now, an* knaggi^ 
Tve seen the day, 

Thou could hae gaen like onie staggie 
Out-owre the lay. 

Tho' now thou*^5 dowie, stiff an* crazy, 
An* thy auld hide as white's a daisy, 
Tve seen thee dappl't, sleek and glaizie, 

A bonie t<ray : 
He should been tight that daur't to raize the; 

Ancc in a day. 

Thou ance was i* the foremost rank:, 
AJillu buirdly, steeve, an* swank, 
An* set wecl down a shapely shank. 
As e*er tread yird; 
An* could hae flown cut-oWre a stank, 
Like ony bird. 

It*s now some nine-an*-twenty yean 
Sin' thou was my gude fatheT''s mscre; 
He gicd me thee, o* tocher clear, 

An* fifty mark; 
Tho* it was sma*, 'twas weel-won gear. 
An* tliou was stark. 

When first I ^'Atd. to woo my Jennyf 
Ye then was trottin wi* your minnie : 
Tho* ye was trickie, slee, an* funnie^ 

Ye ne'er was donsiei 
4But l)amely, tawie. quiet, an* Ccuiuie, 

An' unco sonsie. 

That day, ye pranc'd wi' muckle pridc;^ 
When ye bure hame my bonie hrUle: 
An' sweet an' jj^racefu' she did ride, 

Wi* maiden air ! 
K-Je St,';-yMirt I could bragged wide, 

I'or sic a pair. 

'Tho' no-.v ye dow but iioyte and liobhlr 
\' ' wintle like a Saumont-cobb!e, 
1 j^hL day ye was n jinker noble, 

K«»i- heels an' v.jp/t 



( 85 > 

An* ran them till they a* did waublcf 
Far, far behin*. 

When thou an* I were young an* skeigh# 
An* stable-meals at fairs were dreigh, 
How thou wad prance, an* snore, an* skeigl^ 

An* tak the ix)ad ! 
Town's bodies ran, an* stoo<l abiegh, 
An* ca*t thee mad. 

When thou was corn*t, an* I was mello% 
We took the road, ay, like a swallow : 
A-t Br 00868 thou had ne*er a fellow, 
For pith an* speed ; 
But ev'ry tail thou pay't them hollow, 
Whare*er thou gaed. 

The sma% droop-rumprt, hunter cattlcj 
fk'Iight aiblins waur*t thee for a brattle ; 
But sax Scotch miles thou try*t their mettU^ 

An* gar*t them whaizle t 
Nae whip nor spur, but just a wattle 

O* saugh or hazle. 

Thou was a i\oh\t Jittie lan*^ 
As e*er in tug or tow was drawn ! 
Aft thee an* I, in aught hours gaun, 

On gude March -weathci^ 
'Hae tum'd sax rood beside our han* 
For days thegither. 
Thou never brang*t, an* fech*t, an* fliskit. 
But thy auld tail thou wad hae whiskit, 
An* spread abraid thy weel-fiird briskit, 

Wi* pith and pow*r, 
'Till spritty knowes wad rair't and risket> 
An* sly pet owre. 
When frosts lay lang, an* snaws were deep.. 
An' threaten'd labour back to keep, 
I gied thy cog a wee-bit heap 

Aboon the timmer ; 
I ken*d my Alaggie wad na sleep 

1 or that, or liimmeT. 



( «6 ) 

In cart or car thou/Hever reestit ; 
The stcyest brae ihou wad hae fac't it 
TIiou never lap, and sten't and breastit, 

Then stood to blaw ; 
But just thy step a wee thing hastit, 

Thou snoov*t awa. 

My fileugh is now thy bairn-time a' ; 
Foiii gallant brutes as e'er did draw ; 
Forbye sax mae, I've sell't awa. 

That thou hast nurst: 
They drew me thretteen pund an' twa. 
The vera warst. 

Monie a sair daurk we twa hae wrought*;, 
An* wi' the weary warl' fought ! 
An' monie an anxious day, I thought 

We wad be beat ! 
Yet here to crazy age we're brought, 

Wi' something yet. 

An' think na, my auld, trusty servan', 
Thai jiow perhaps thou's less deservin, 
An' thy auld days rnay end in starvin, 

For my last /bw, 
A heapit stimpart^ I'll reserve ane 

Laid by for you. 

We've worn to crazy years thegither ; 
We'll doy't about wi* ane anither; 
Wi' tentie care I'll flit thy tether, 

T<» some hain'd rig, 
Whare ye Hiay nobly rax your leather. 
Wi' sma" fatigue. 

TO A MOUSE 

0« Suriiitig her u/i in htr ne^t vfith the Jfilou^hy Abx-ew- 
bery 178S. 

WEE, sleckit, cowrin, tim*rous beastie, 
O, what a panic's Ih thy brtnetic, 



( 87 ) 

Thou need na start awa sae hasty, 

Wi* bickering brattle I 

I wad be laith to rin an* chase thep, 

Wi* murdering fiattle i 

I'm truly sorry man's dominion 
Has broken nature's social union, 
An' justifies that ill opinion, 

Which maks thee startle. 
At me, thy poor earth-born companion, 
At\* fellow mortal.' 

I doubt na, whiles, but thou may thiere; 
What then ? poor beastie, thou m^un lire.! 
A daimen icker in a thrave 

*S a sma* request ; 
I'll get a blissin wi' the lave, 

And never miss't ! 

Thy wee bit houfsie too, in ruin I 
Its silly wa*s the wins are strewin I 
An' naething, now, to big a new ane, 

O* foggage green ! 
An* bleak December's winds ensuin, 

Baith Fnell and keen! 

Thou saw the fields laid bare an* waste^ 
An' weary winter comin fast, 
An' cozie here beneath the blast, 

Thou thought to dwell, 
'Till crash, the cruel coulter past 

Out thro' thy cell. 

That wee bit heap o' leaves an* stibble, 
Has cost thee mony a weary nibble ! 
Now thou's turn'd out for a' thy trouble^ 

But house or hald, 
To thole the winter's sleety dribble, 

An'canreuch caulcl! 

But, mousie, thou art no thy lane, 
In \)vov'm^ fureaight may be vain: 
The best laid schemes o' mice an* meji^ 
Gang aft a-gley, 



jfcn' leaTc us nought but grief and paii% 
For promised joy. 

Still thou art blest compar'd wi* meJf 
The present only toucheth thee : 
But, Ochl I backward cast my e*e. 

On prospects drear i 
An' forward, iho* I canna ser, 

I guess an V^ar. 

A WINTER NIGHT. 

J'oor naked nvretchesy whereao*er you are^ 
That bide the fielting of this fiityless storm t 
IIoiv shall your houseless heads^ and unfed side*^ 
Your loofi*d and ivindoiu*d raggedness^ defend yot^ 
From seasons such as these. ■ . 

Shakespeare. 

WHEN biting Boreas, fell and doure, 
Sharp shiver's thro* the leafless bowV ; 
When Fhabzis gi'es a short-liv'd glow'r 

Far south the lift, 
.Dim-dark*ning thro' the flaky show'r. 
Or whiiling drift. 

Ae night the storm the steeples rocked. 
Poor labour sweet in sleep was locked, 
While burns, wi* snawy wreaths up-choked^. 

Wild-eddying swirl, 
Or thro' the mining outlet boked, 

Down headlong hurl. 

List'ning, the doors an' winnocks rattl^ 
I thought me on the ourie cattle, 
Or silly sheep, wha bide this brattle 

O' winter war, 
And thro* the drift, decp-lairing sprattle^ 

Beneath a scar. 

Ilk happing bird, wee, helpless thing;, 
Xhat, in tiic merry months o' sj^ring 



( 8» > 

Oelighfcd mc to hear thee singj, 

What comes o* thee i 
Whare wilt thou cow'r thy chittering wing^ 

An* close thy e'e ? 
Ev'n you on murd*rous errands toil'd, 
I.onc from your savage homes exiPd, 
The blood-stain'd roost, and sheep-cote spoil'd, 

My heart forgets, 
While pityless the tempest wild 

Sore on you beats. 

Now Phabe^ in her midnight reign, 
Dark muffled, viewed the dreary plain ; 
Still crouding thoupjhts, a pensive train, 

Rose in my soul. 
When on my ear this plaintive strain, 

Slow, solemn, stole— 

* Blow, blow, ye winds, with heavier gust ! 
' And freeze, tliou bitter biting frost ! 

* Descend, ye chilly smothering snows ! 

' Not all your rage, as now united, shows 

* More hard unkindness, unrelenting, 

* Vengeful malice unrepenting. 

• Than heaven-illumin'd man on brother man bestow^' 

* See stern oppression's iron grip, 

* Or mad ambition's gorey hand, 

* Sending, like blood-hounds from the slip, 

* Woe, want, and murder o'er a land i 

* Ev'n in the peaceful rural vale, 

* Truth weeping, te!ls the mournful talc, 

* How pamper'd luxury, flattery by her side, 

' The parasite empoisoning her ear, 

* With all the servile wretches in the rear, 

* Looks o'er proud property, extended wide ; 

' And eyes the simple rustic hind, 

* Whose toil upholds the glitt'ring show^ 

* A creature of another kind, 

* Some coarser substance, unrefin'd, 

• Plac'd for her lordly use thus far, thus vile, below, 

* Where, where is loves fond, tender lhro«, 

» 2 



( y«> ) 

* With lordly honor's lofty broW, 

' The pow*rs you proudly own t 

< Is there, beneath love's noble name^ 

< Can harbour, dark, the selfish aim, 

* To bless himself alone I 

* Mark maiden-innocence a prey 

' To love-pretending snares, 

* This boasted honor turns away, 

* Shunning soft pity's rising sway, 

* Regardless of the tears and unavailing prayers! 

* Perhaps, this hour, in misery's squalid nest, 

* She strains your infant to her joyless breast, 

* And with a mother's fears shrinks at the rocking 

' Oh ye ! who, sunk in beds of down, [blast ; 

* Feel not a want but what yourselves create, 

< Think, for a moment, on his wretched fate, 

* Whom friends and fortune quite disown I 

* III satisfy'd, keen nature's clam'rous call, 

* Stretch'd on his straw he lays himself to sleep;. 

* While, thro* the ragged roof and chinky wall, 

' Chill, o'er his slumbers piles the drifty heap,! 

* Think on the dungeon's grim confine, 

' Where guilt and poor misfortune pine ,! 

* Guilt, erring nian, relenting view I 

* But shall thy legal rage pursue 

* The wretch, already crushed low 

' By cruel fortune's undeserved blow ? 
Affliction's sons are brother's in distress, 
A brother to relieve, how exquisite the bliss j 

I heard nae mair, for Chanticleer 

Shook aff the pouthery snaw, 
And hail'd the morning with a cheerj 

A cottage-rousing craw. 

But deep this truth impressed my mind—^ 

Thro* all his works abroad, ♦ 
The heart benevolent and kind 

The most resembles God. 



I ^l ) 

BPISTLE TO DAVIE, A BROTHER POET*. 

I. 
WHILE winds frae afF Ben-Lomond bld^w 
And bar the doors wi* driving snuw, 

And hinp^ us owrc the ingle, 
I set me do^vn to pass the time, . 

And spin a verse or twa o' rhyme, 

In hamely westlin jingle. 
While frosty winds blaw in the drift, 

Ben to the chimla lug, 
I grudge a wee the great folk's gift, 
That live sac bien an* snug : 
I tent less, and want less 
Their roomy fire-side : 
But hanker and canker 
1 o see their cursed prid^. 

II. 

It's hardly In a body's pow'r, 

To keep, at times, frae being sour. 

To see how things are shar*d ; 
How best o' chiels arc whiles in want 
While coofs on countless thousands ranjj 

And ken nae how to wair't: 
But Davie^ lad, ne'er fash your hea(^ 

Tho' we hae little gear, 
We're fit to win our daily bread, 
As lang's we're hale and fier i 
Mair spier na' nor fear na,*t 
Auld age ne'er mind a feg, 
The last o't, the warst o't, 
Is only for to beg. 

III. 

To lie in kilns and barns at e'eTi, 

When bancs arc craz'd, and blude is ihila^ 

• David Sillar, en^ of the club at Tarboltoriy and (t 
tfior of a volume ^ fioema in the Scottish diaicctt B 
t Ramsay^ 



Ts doubtless, great distress i 
Yet then content could make us blest y 
Ev'n then> sometimes we*d snatch a tastfc 

Of truest happiness. 
The honest heart that's free frae »* 

Intended fraud or p^uile, 
However fortune kick the ba', 

Has ay some cause to smile, 
• And mind still, you'll find still, 
A comfort this nae sma*; 
Nae mair then, we'll care then, 
Nae farther can we fa*. 
IV. 
What tho*. like commoners of air, 
We wander out, we know not where, 

But either 1 ouse or hal' ? 
Yet nature's charms, the hills and woods, 
The sweeping: vales, and foaming floods, 

Are free alike to all. 
In days when daisies deck the ground, 

And blackbirds whistle clear. 
With honest joy our hearts will bounds 

To see the cominpj year : 
On braes when we please, then, 

WeMl sit and sowth a tune ; 
Syne r/ii;7ne till't, we'll time till'tj 

And sing when we hae done. 

V. 

Its no in titles nor in rank ; 

Its no in wealth like Lon'on bank ! 

To piu'chase peace and rest ! 
Its no in makin muckle mair ; 
Its no In books: its no in lear, 

To mak us truly blest; 
If liappiness hae not her seat 

And centre in the breast, 
^\ile m*ay be wise, or rich, or |;reat. 

"^ut never can be blest: 



( ♦a ) 

Kae treasures, nor pleasure*, 
Could make us happy laug i 

The heart ay, *s the part ay, 
That maks us right or wrang, 

VI. 

Think ye, that sic as you an* T, 

W ha drudi^e and drive thro* wet an' dry;, 

Wi* never-ceasing toil ; 
Think ye, are we less blest than they^ 
Wha scarcely tent us in their way, 

As hardly worth their while ? 
Alas I how aft in haughty mood, 
God*s creatures they oppress ! 
Or else, neglecting a' that's gude. 
They riot in excess ! 

Baith careless, and fearlesi 
Of either heav'n or hell » 
Esteeming, and deeming 
It*s a* an idle tale I 
VII. 
Then let us cheerfu* acquiesce $ 
Nor mak our scanty pleasures less, 

By pining at our state ; 
And, even should misfortunes com^ 
I, lier« wha sit, hae met wi* some, 
An*s thankfu' fc»r them yet. 
They gie the wit of age to youth ; 

They let us ken oursel ; 
They mak us seethe naked truth, 
The real j^aide and ill. 
Tho* losses, and crosses, 

Be lessons right severe, 
There's wit there, ye'll get there, 
Yc'll find nae other where. 
VIII. 
But tent me, Davie^ ace o' hearts ! 
(To say aught less wad wrang the cartes, 

And flatt'ry I detest) 
This life has joys for you and I j 



( 94 ) 

And joys that riches ne'e could buy ; 

And joys the very best, 
Tlierc*s a' the /ilrasurcs o* the hearty 

The lover an* the frien' ; 
Ye hac your .V/' q-, your dearest part) 
And I my darlinu: Jran ! 
It warms me, it ciiarms me, 
To mention but her namci 
It beats me, it beets n)e. 
And sets me a* on flume ! 
IX. 
O, all ye pow'rs who rule above ! 
O 77roM, whose verv self art lovf I 
Thou know'st my words sincere ! 
The life-blood streamhiy; thro* my heart> 
Or ray more dear immortal part. 

Is not more fondly dear ! 
When heart-corroding care and gritoC . 

De])rive my soul of rest, 
Her dear idea brinies relief 
And solace to n\y breast. 
Thou Bei7ig^ All-seeinp:, 

() hear my fervent pray*r j 
Siill t^^ke her, and make her 
'Ihy most peculiar care ! 

X. 

All hail, ye tender feelings dear I 
The smile of love, the friendly tear, 

The sym pathetic glow ; 
Long siiK e, this world's thorny ways 
Had nun^ber'd out my weary days, 

I lad it not been for you ! 
Fate still has bless*d me with a friend, 

In every care and ill ; 
And oft a more endearing band* 
A tie more tender still. 
It li^htens, itlDrightens 
The tcnebrific scene, 
To meet with, and greet witli 
My Davie or my Jean* 



( 9S ^ 

XI. 

O, how that name inspiies my style ) 
Tl>e words come skclpiii rank ami fil#^ 

Amaist before I ken '. 
The ready measure rins as fine. 
As P'icebus and tiie famous Nine 

Were ij:lowrin owre my pen. 
My spav'et P ,.favvu« will limp, 

*'l'ill ance he's fairly liet ; 
And then he'll hilch, and stilt, and jimp. 
And rin an unco fit : 
But lest then, the beast then, 
Should rue this hasty ride, 
ril lip;ht now, and di^ht now 
liis sweaty wizen'd hide. 

THE LAMENT, 

Occasioned by the unfortunate issue of aFnend'ft amou^ 

^/a« .' /iow of/ dora t^oodnrss wound itHclf 
And Hweet Afi'ection firove the tprinfc of luot. 

HoMT 
I. 

THOU pale orb, that silent shines, 
While care-untroubled mortals sleep ' 

Vhou seest a wretch that inly pines. 
And wanders here to wail and weep .' 

With woe I nif^htly vi^!:ils keep, 
Beneath thy wan unwarmin^ beam 

And mourn, in lamt ntation deep, 
How lift- and love are all a dream. 

H. 

1 joyless view thy lays adorn 

The faintly-marked distant hill : 
T joyless view thy tremblinp: horn, 

Reflected in the piurglinp^ rill : 
My fondly-flutterini^ heart, b«' still! 

Thou busy pow'r, Remembiaiice cei^se ) 



( 9e ) 

Ah t must the agonizing thrill 
For ever bar returning peace! 

in. 

No idly-feign'd poetic pains, 

My sad, love-lorn lamcntings claim { 
Ko shepherd's pipe — Arcadian strains ; 

No fabled tortures, quaint and tame s 
The plighted faith, the mutual flame i 

The oft -attested pow*rs above ; 
The firomis*d Father*s tender name s 

These were the pledges of my love J 

IV. 

Cncircled in her clasping arms, 

How have the raptur'd moments flow»fr 
How have I wish'd for foi tune's charmi. 

For her dear sake, and her's alone ! 
And must I think it ! is she gone, 

My secret heart's exulting boast ? 
And does she heedless hear my groan t 

And is she ever, ever lost ? 

V. 

Oh ! can she bear so base a heart, 

So lost to honour, lost to truth, 
As from the fondest lover part. 

The plighted husband of her youth ! 
Alas ! life's path may be unsmooth ! 

Her way may lie through rough distress 1 
I'hen, who her pangs and pains will soothe, 

Her sorrows share, and make them less ? 

VI. 

ilt winged hours that o'er us past, 

Enraptur'd more, the more enjoyM . 
Your dear remembrance in my breast, 

My fondly-treasur'd thoughts emplovi 
That breast, how dreary now, and void. 

For her too scanty once of room ! 
tv'n ev'ry ray of hope destroy *d, 

^nd not a wmA to gild the gloem ' 



i 97 ) 

VII. 

The mom that warns th' approaching day, 

Awakes me up to toil and woe : 
I iiee the liours m long array, 

That I must sufl'er, lingering, slow. 
Full many a pang, and many a throe 

Keen recollection's direful train, 
Must wring my soul, ere Phoebus low, 

Shall kiss the distant, western main. 

VIII. 
And when my nightly couch I try, 

Sore-iiarrass*d out with care and grief, 
My toil-beat nerves, and tear-worn eye, 

Keep watchings with the nightly thief: 
Or if I slumber, fancy, chief, 

Reigns haggard-wild, in sore affright : 
E'en day, all-bitter, brings relief, 

From such a horror-breathing night, 

IX. 

O ! thou bright queen, who o'er th' expanse, 

Now highest ieij<n*st, with boundless sway 1 
Oft has thy silent-marking glance 

Oljserv'd us, fondly-wand'ring stray I 
The time, unheeded, sped away, 

While love':> luxurious pulse beat higli, 
Beneath thy silver-beaming ray, 

To mark the mutual-kindling eye. 

X. 

Oh I scenes in strong remembrance set ! 

Scenes, never, never, to return ! 
Scenes, if in stupor I forget, 

Again I feel, again I burn I 
From ev'ry joy and pleasure torn. 

Life's weary vale 1*11 wander thro' } 
And hopeless, comfortless, I'll mourn 

A faithless woman's broken vow. 



( ^9 ) 

DESPONDENCY, AN ODE. 

T. 

OrrKESS'D with grief, oppressed with care, 
A biirvkn xwovc than I can Lear, 

1 sit me down and sigh : 
O life I tl.ou art a galhng load, 
Along a rou^h, a weary road, 

I'o wrelclics such as 1 1 
Dm. backwa»'d as I cast my view^ 
What sick'ning; scents appear ! 
A\ l.at sorrows i/ri may pierce nic thro% 
Too justly 1 may fear ! 
Still caring, despairing, 

Must be my bitter doom ; 
My woes here shall close ne'er, 
Bui with the closing tomb I 

II. 
Itlappy ye sons of busy li(e, 
AVho, etjual to the bustling strife. 

No other view regard ! 
Fv*n when the wisiied md^s deny'd, 
Yet while the busy infatts are ply*d, 

Thty bring their own reward : 
A\'hi]st 1,a hope-abandon*d wight, 

Unfitted witii an a/V/i, 
Meet ev'ry sad returning night, 
And joyless morn the same, 
You bustling, and justling, 

Forget each grief and pain ; 
I listless, yet restless, 

Find every prospect vain. 

III. 

rTow blest the Solitary's lot, 
Who, all-forgcttitig all-lbrgot, 

Within his humble cell, 
The cavci-n wild with tangling roots, 
«Sil^ o*er his newiy-gather'd fruits^ 

iieftide his chrystul well I 



( 99 ) 

Or, haply, to his evening thought, 

By unficquented sutvim, 
Tlie ways of men arc distant brought, 
A faint collected dream; 
While praising and raising 

His thoughts to heav'n on high;( 
As wand'ring, mcand'ring, 
He views the solemn sky. 

IV, 

^'han I, no lonely hermit plac'd 
Where never human footstep trac'd. 

Less fit to play the part ; 
The lucky moment to improve, 
Ancljunt to stop, •Ar\(\J7iie to move, 

With self-respecting art: 
But ah I those pleasures, loves, and joy^j 

Which I too keenly taste, 
The solitary can despise, 
Can want, and yet be blest ! 
He needs not, he heeds not, 

Or human love or hate. 
Whilst 1 here must cry here, 
At perfidy ingratc ! 

V. 

Oh ! enviable early days, 

When da^icing thoughtless pleasure's mazc^ 

To care, to guilt unknown ! 
How ill-exchang'd for riper times^ 
To feel the follies or the crimes, 

Of others or n;y own ! 
Ye tiny elves that guiltless sport, 

Like linnets in the bush, 
Ve little know the ills ye court, 
When manhood is your wish! 

The losses, the crosses, :|| 

That active man engage I 
The fears all, the tears all, 
Of dim-declining a^el 



< lao ) 

WINTER, A DIRGE>, 

I. 
'THE Avintry wen extends his blast, 

And hail and rain doea blaw; 
Or, the sstormy north sends driving forth 

The blinding sleet and sna^v: 
While liimblinj^ brown, the burn comes dowD;j. 

And roars frae bank to brae ; 
And bird and beast in covert rest 

And pass the heartless day. 
II. 
« The sweephij^ blast, the sky o*ercast,*** 

The joyless winter-day, 
Let others fear, to me more dear 

Than all the pride of May ; 
The tempest's howl, it sooths my soul, 

My griefs it seems to join, 
The leafless trees my fancy please* 

Their fate resembles mine! 

III. 
Thou Pow*r Sufiveme^ whose mighty scheme 

These woes of mine fulfil. 
Here firm, I rest, they must be best, 

Because they are Thy Will ! 
Then all I want, O do thou grant 

This one request of mine, 
5iince to cvjoy thou dost deny, 

Assist me to resign. 

^ Dr. Youn^. 



( 1*1 ) 

THE COTTER'S SATURDAY JVIGIiT. 

INSCRIBED TO R. A*»**, E:^Q. 

Let Jiot ambition mock their usiful toil,, 

Th'ir homvbj joua and d nfiny obacurr ; 

A'or jE^Tan/nc h.'ar^ nvit/i a di>idaivful smiley 

The short but simjile annals of the /loor. 

Grat. 
I. 
MY lov*d, my bonorVl, much respected friend \ 

No mLMxer.dry bard his hom:\^e pays, 
With honest pride, I scorn each selfish end, 

My d(.;arcst meed, a friend's esteem and praise; 
To you I sinf^, in sim])le Scoftitih lays. 

The lowly irain in life's sequester'd scene ; 
The nalive feelings stronpj, the p;uilele.ss ways: 
What A*' * in a cottage would have been: 
Ah ! the' his worth unknown, far happier there I ween i 
II. 
November chill blaws loud wi' an.^ry su^h ; 
The shovt'nin:^ winter day is near a close ; 
The miry beasts rctreatini^ frae the pleuj^h ; 

The black'nini; trains o' craws to their repose^ 
Ti^e toii-worn f'oi^^r frae his labour goes, 
f hii^ tiijrht his weekly moil is at an end, 
Collects his spades, his mattocks, an:l his hoes, 
Ho])ing the morn in ease to rest and spend, 
And weary o'er the moor his course does homeward 
bend. 

in. 

At lenpjth his lonely cot appears in view, 

Beneath the shelter of an aged tree ; 
Th' expectant ivre th'nirsy todhn, stacher through 

To meet their Dad, wi' ilitcherin noise an' glcu., 
Kis wee bit ingle, blinkin bonnily, 

His clean hearth-stane, his thrifty 7y//?-'s siuilt? 
The lisping infant prattling on his knee, 
k2 



(102 ) 

Does a* his weary carking cares beguile, 
An' maks him quite forget his labour an* his toil. 

IV. 

Belyve the elder bairns come drapping in, 

At service out, aman.s; the farmers roun'; 
Some ca' the pleugh, some herd, some tentie rin 

A cannie errand to a neebor town : 
Their eldest hope, their Jcnny^ woman grown. 

In youthfu* bloom, love sparkling in her e*e, 
Comes hame, perhaps, to shew a braw new gown, 

Or deposite her sair-won penny-fee, 
To help her parents dear, if they in hardship be. 

V. 

Wi' joy unfeign'd brothers and sisters meet. 

An' each for other's welfare kindly spiers : 
The social hours, swift -wing*d, unnotic'd fleet i 

Each tells the unco's that he sees or hears; 
The parents,'partial, eye their hopeful years ; 

Anticipation forward points the view. 
The mothery wi* her needle an* her sheers. 

Gars auld claes look amaist as weel's the new j 
X\i^ father mixes a' wi* admonition due. 

VI. 
Their master's an' their mistress's command, 
The younkers a* are warned to obey ; 

* An* mind their labours wi* an eydent hand, 

* An* ne'er, tho* out o* sight, to jauk or play I 
*An* O ! be sure to fear the Lord alway! 

* An' mind your duty^ duly, morn an' night \ 

• Lest in temptation's path ye gang astray, 

' Implore his counsel and assisting might : 
'They never sought in vain that sought the Lord 
aright I* 

VII. 

But hark ! a rap comes gently to the door; 

Jenny^ wha kens the meaning o' the same. 
Tells how a neebor lad came o'er the moor. 

To do some errands, and convey her hamr. 



( i^s ) 

The wily mother sees the conscious flame 

Sparkle in Jenny*s e*e, and flush her cheek ; 
With heart-struck anxious care, enquires his namC) 
While Jenny hafflins is afraid to speak ; 
Weel pleas'd the mother kears, its nae wild worth- 
less rake- 

VIII. 
Wi' kindly welconae Jenny brings him ben ; 

A strappan youth ; he taks the mother's eye j 
Blythe Jenny sees the visit's no ill ta'en ; 

The father cracks of horses, pleughs, and kye, 
The youngster's artless heart o'erflows wi* joy. 

But blate and laithfu', scarce can weel behave ; 
The mother, wi' a woman's wiles, can spy 

What makes the youth sae bashfu' an' sae gjrave ; 
Weel pleasM to think her baim*s respected like the 
lave. 

IX. 
O happy love ! where love like this is found J 

O heart-felt raptures ! bliss beyond compare J 
Tve paced much this weary mortal round 

And sagje exfierience bids me this declare— 
If Heaven a draught of heavenly pleasure sparC| 

* One cordial in this melancholy vale, 
*'Tis when a youthful, loving, modest pair, 

* In others arms breathe out the tender tale, 

* Beneath the milk-white thorn that scents the ev'ning;, 
gale.' 

X. 

Is there, in human form, that bears a heart—- 

A wretch ! a villain ! lost to love aiid truth ! 
That can, with studied, sly, ensnaring art. 

Betray sweet J'.-nm/s unsuspecting youth ? 
Curse on his perjur'd arts ! dissemblinp: smooth ! 

Arc honor, virtue, conscience, all exil'd ? 
Is there no pity, no relenting ruth, 

Points to the parents fondi'in<^- o'er their child ? 
Then paints the ruin'd maid, and their distraction wild? 



( 104 ) 

XI. 

]biit now the supper crowns their simple board, 

'll.f htulsonic /.arrfichs chief o' Scotia*^ food : 
The soiipe tlieir only ' 'awk/'e does afford 

'Ihiit yoY\i ♦.he hailan snugly chows her cood, 
The dumc hrings foi th in complimental mood, 

Totjiace the Id, her weel-hain*d kehbuck fell» 
An* aft I^e*s prest, an' aft he ca*s it ^ude ; 

Tlie fiugal wifie, garrulous, will tell, 
How 'twas a lowniond auld, sin' Imt was i* the bell. 

XII. 
The cheerfu* supper done, wi' serious face, 

'I hey found the mgle, f<>ini a circle wide: 
The sire turn's o'er, wi' patriurcluil grace, 

The bi;i* ha-f^ibli\ ancc his father's pride: 
His bomut rcvretitly is laid L\side, 

His ^yart haffets wearing; thin an* bare ; 
Tliose sli'ahis that once dil sweet in Zion glide, 

He witks -'. ])ortion with judicious care ; 
And * Let us woishi/i Cod !' he says with solemn air. 

XJII. 
They chant their artless notes in simple guise ; 

They tune t' cir hearts, by fu' the noblest aim : 
Perhaps I)undi'(*^ wild warbling measures rise, 

Or plaintive Martyrs^ worthy of the nime ; 
Or nob'e Rlf^in b ets the heav'n-waid fl tme, 

The swevtest far of dcofia*s holy lays : 
Compar'd wiiii these- Italian trills are tame ; 

The tickl'd ears no heart fclt-raplures raise ; 
Nae unison hae they with our Creator's praise. 

XIV. 

The priest-like father reads the sacred page, 
Ho\v .41)} am was the frin:d of God on high ; 

Or, Afosrs bade eternal warfare wa^^e 
With ylmaUk^s ungracious progeny ; 

Or h.ow the royal bard did groaning lye 

Beneath the stroke of Heuv.-n's avenging irc;- 

Or Jijb\ pathetic plaint, and waiUng cry ; 



( J05 ) 

Or wrapt haiah'a wild, seraphic fire j' 
Or other holy seers that tune the hacred iyrc 

XV. 
Perhaps the Christian volumr is the theme, 

How giiiltless blood for t^uilty man was shed j. 
How He<t who bore in Heaven the second name, 

Had not on earth whereon to lay his head ; 
How his first followers and servants sped ; 

The precepts saj^e they wrote to many a land ; 
How hf^ who lone in PaUnos banished, 
Saw in the sun a miq;hty an?^el stand ; 
And heard q;reat Bab' Ion* s doom pronounc'd by Hea^ 
Yen's command. 

XVI. 
Then kneeling down, to Heavkn's eternal Kin6> 

The 'dainty the father^ and the husband prays : 
Hope ' sprinf^s exulting on triumphant wing',* 

Th^ithufs they all shall meet in future days : 
There ever bask in uncreated rays, 

No more to sigh, or shed the bitter tear, 
Together hymning their creator's praise, 

In such society, yet still more dear ; 
While circling time moves round in an eternal sphere* 
XVH. 
Compar'd with this how poor religion's pride, 

In all tue pomp of method, and ot art, 
When men display to congregations wide, 

Devotion's ev'ry grace, except the heart / 
The Pow*ry incens'd, the pageant will desert, 

The pompous strain, the sacerdotal stole ; 
But haply, in some cottage far apart. 

May hear, well pleas'd the language of the soul i 
And in his book of life the inmates poor enroll. 

XVIII. 
Then homeward all take off their sevVal way ( 
The youngling cottagers retire to rest ; 

* Pop€*9 Windior Forest, 



(• 106 V 

The pnrent-priir their .'if^crct homage pay, 

And pvoRlr up to Heuven the wann request, 

Tiiat '7r who slllls the raven's clam'rous ncal, 
A!ul decks the lilly fuir in llow*ry pride, 

Would in tlie way lus wisdom sees the best» 
For iluni and for tluir little ones provide ; 
Bui chiefly in their hearts with !^race divine preside;. 

XIX. 

From scenes like these old Scofia*/* p^randeur springSj^ 

That niakt^s hor iov'd at home, rever'd abroad; 
Princes and louls arc but the breath of kinj;s. 

* An honest man's the no!>leHt work of God :* 
And crrfrf}. in fair virtue's heav'nly load, 

The cotf(i!rr leaves the fuilaci far beliind; 
What is H loixlliniv's pomp ? a cumbrous load, 
Ois^uisin*;- oil the wretch of human kind^ 
Studied m arts of hell, in wickedness rtfin'dl 
XX. 

O Scotia ! my dear, my native soil ! 

I'or whom my warmest wish to Flcaven is sent t 
Lonc^ may thy hardy sons of rustic toil, 

Be blest with health, and peace, and sweet content 1 
And, C) ! nK\y Heaven their simple lives prevent 

From Luxury's contai>;ion, weak and vile! 
Then howe'cr croivns and coronets be rent, 

A virtuous fiofiulace may rise the while 
And stand a wall of fire around their much-Iov'd Isle 
XXI. 

O Thou! who pour'd the patiiolic tide 

'l'h;it streamM thro' J /'<;//acr'6 undaunted heart; 
Whodar'd to nobly stem tyrannic pride, 

Or nobly die, the second glorious part, 
(The patriot's (iod^ peculiarly thou art, 

His friend, inspirer, guardian, and reward !} 
O never, never, iicotia*.s realm desert ; 

But still the fiafriot and the fmtriot bard. 
In brijjht succession raise, her ornament and guard^. 



MAN WAS MADE TO MOURl^, 
ji DIRGE, 

I. 
WIIFN chill Novcmbet *8 surly blast 

Ma(l«.- ficUls aiul forests l^.-irc. 
One ev'nini^, as 1 wiuulc cM forth 

Alonj^ the batiks of v^fvr, 
I spyM a man, whi>se af^ed step 

SecmM weary, worn with c;)re; 
His face was fuvniwM o'er with years 

And hoary was his hair. 

II. 

Young stranger, whither wand'rest thoui 

Bcii^an the rev*rcnd sage ; 
Docs thirst of wealth thy step constrain, 

Or youthful phusure's rage ? 
Or haply, prest with ca.vs and woes, 

Too soon tlu)u hast began 
To wand(;r forth, witlj nie, to mourn 

The miseries of man. 

III. 

Tlic sun that overhangs yon moors, 

Out-spieading far and wide, 
Wheie iiundrells lahour to sujiport 

A hau^;iity Iortlling*s pride ; 
I've seen yon weai y winter-sun 

Twice forty times return : 
And ev'ry time has added proofs 

That man was made to mourn, 

IV. 

O man ! while in thy early years, 

How prodi!!:aI of time ! 
Mis-spendiiui^ all tly precious houro, 

Thy <rlorious youthful prime! 
Alternate follies take the sway ; 

^Licuntious passions burn ; 



( 108 ) 

Wliich tenfold force jjives nature's taW* 
Thiit mun was made to mourn. 

V. 

Look not alone on youthful primes 

< )r manhood's active might ; 
Man then is useful to his kind, 

iiufiport(d is his right. 
But see him on the edge of life, 

With cares and sorrows worn, 
Then age and want, Oh ! ill-match'd pair* 

Siiow man was made to mourn. 
VI. 

.A few seem favorites of fate, 

In pleasure's lap carest ; 
Yet, tliink not all the rich and great 

Are likewise truly blest. 
But, Oh ! what crowds in ev'ry land# 

Are wretched and forlorn ; 
Thro* weary life tliis lesson Icam, 

That man was made to mourn. 

VII. 

Many and sharp the num'rous ills 

Inwoven with our frame! 
Moie pointed still we make ourselves, 

Regret, remorse, and shame ! 
And man, whose heav*n erected face 

The smiles of love adorn, 
Man's inhumanity to man 

Makes countless thousands mourn ! 

VIII. 
See yonder poor, o*erhbour*d wight 

So abject, mean, and vile, 
Who begs a brother of the earth 

To give him leave to toil ; 
And see his \ovA\y fdloiv-ioorm 

The poor petition spurn, 
Unmindful, tho* a weepinjr wife 

And helpless oflspriixg mourir. 



i i09 ) 

IX. 

If I'm desip^n'd yon lordling's slav^ 

'By naiiiic*9 kiw dcbi^n'd, 
\V hy was an indcpcndcRt wish 

V.\r planted in my irind/ 
If not, why am I suhjcct to 

ill* cruelty or sconi i 
Or why has ma;, the will and powV 

To make his fellow mourn i 

X. 

Yet, let not this too much, my soil. 

Disturb thy youtldul breast : 
Tiiis partial v.ew of iiuman kind 

Is surely not the iO'tt. 
The poor, oppressed, honest man, 

Had never, sure, been born, 
Had there not been some recompense 

To comfort those that mourn i 

XI. 

O death ! the poor man*8 dearest fricntji 

The kindest and the best ! 
Welcome the hour my aged limbs 

Are laid with thee at rest! 
The great, tiie wealthy, fear thy blow, 

From pomp and pleasure torn^ 
But Oh I a blesl relief to those 

Tliat weary-laden mourn I 

\ PRAYER IN THE PROSPECT OF DEATH. 

I. 
O THOU unknown Almighty Cause 

Of all my hi»pe and fear! 
In whose dread presence, ere an hour, 

Perliaps 1 must appear! 

II. 

Ii I have wanderM in those paths 

Of life I ouglii to shun ; 
As ficm((hinir^ loudly, in my breast, 

Uemonstrtttes 1 have done ; 



( 110 > 

III. 

Thou know'st that thou hast formed mc 

With passions wild and strong- ; 
And list'ning to their witching voice 

Has olteh led mc wrong. 

Where human weakness has come short, 

Ov/railtij stcpt aside, 
Do tliou Ml'G-mll for such thou art. 

In shades and darkness hide, 

V. 

Where with intention I have crr*d, 

No other plea I have, 
l3ut, Hum art good ; and goodness still 
Delighteth to forgive. 

STANZAS ON THE SAME OCCASION. 

WHY am I lotli to leave this earthly scene ! 

Have 1 so found it full of pleasing charms ! 
Some drops of joy with draughts of ill between : 

Some gleams of sunshine mid rencM'ing storms^ 
Is it departing pangs my soul alarms ? 

Or death's unlovely, dreary, dark abode ? 
For guilt, for j^uilt, my terrors are in arms ; 

I tremble to approach an angry Ciou» 
And justly smart beneath his sin-avenging rod. 

Fain would I say, ' Forgive my foul olTence !* 

Fain promise never more to disobey ; 
But, shouhl my Author iK-aith again disj)cnse, 

Again I might desert fair virtue's way ; 
Again in folly's path might go astray ; 

Again exait the brutv- and sink the man ; 
Then how should I for heavenly mercy pray, 

Who act so counter heavenly mercy's plan ? 
Whonin so oft ha^'e mourn*d, yd to tempt.ition ran ? 

O Thou, great governor of all below ! 
If I may dare a lifted eye to thee. 



i ill ) 

Thy nod can make the tempest cease to blow, 
Or still the tumult of the raij;ini>- sea : 

With that controulinu; pow'r assist ev*n me, 
Those hfadlon}* furious passions to conHne { 

For all unfit I feel my powers to be. 

To rule their toi-rent in tii* allowed line; 
(), aid me wit!i thy help Omni/ioicnct' Divine ! 

LYING AT A REVEREND FRIEND'S HOUSE 

ONR NIGHT, THIi AUTHOR LEFT THE FOLL0WIX<? 

Verses in the roo7n where he ,'^/r/ig. 

I. 
O TMOU dread Pow'r, who reijjn'st above ! 

I knovv th.ou wilt me hear : 
When for t!iis scene of peace and love, 

I make my pray'r sincere. 

ir 

The hoary sire — the mortal stroke^ 

Lon^, lon,T; b- pleasM U) spare ; 
To b!es^ his little filial flock, 

And show what ic^od men are. 

III. 

She, who her lovely oniiprinj^; eycft 

With tender hopes and fears, 
O bless Ivji* with a mother's joys, 

But spare a mother's tears ! 

IV. 

Their hope, their stay, their darling youthj 

In mauiiood's dawnin::^ blush ; 
Bless him, thou tJod of love and truth, 

Up to a parcul's wish. 

V. 

Thj lieauteous, seraph sistcr-!)and, 

With earnest tears 1 pray, 
Thou know'bt the snares on ev'ry hand[, 

C>uide thou their jitepa aiwuy. 



( nj > 

VI. 

When soon or late they rtach that coakt 

O'ci liff's rough ocean driv'n, 
May they rejoice, no wandVer lost, 

A Ciinily in Hcav'n I 

THE FIRST PSALM. 

Tf IE iTjan, in lif- wherever plac'd. 

Hath happiness in store, 
Wlio walks not in the wicked's way. 

Nor learns then y,uilty lore ! 

Nor from the seat of scornful pride 

Casts forth his eyes abroad, * 
But with humility and awe 

Still walks before his God. 

Th.at man shall flourish like the treeii^ 
Which by th.e streamlets R^row ; 

The fruitful top is spread on high, 
And firm the root below. 

But lie wl-ose blossom buds in guilt 

Shall to the ground be cast, 
And like tb.e rootless stubble tost. 

Before the sweeping blast. 

For why ? that God the good adore 
Hath giv*n them peace and rest, 

But h >th decreed that wicked me» 
bhall ne*cr be truly blest. 

A PRAYER 

Under the pressure of violent anguiih 

O THOU great Being 1 what thou art 

^Surpasses me to know : 
Vet sure 1 am, that known to thee 

Are all thy works below.. 



( iis ) 

Thy creature here before thee stanclii*. 

Ail wretched and dislrest; 
Yet sure those ills that wring my soul 

Obey thy high behest. 

Sure thou, Almighty, canst not act 

From cruelty or wrath ! 
O, free my weary eyes fiom tears. 

Or close them fast in death ! 

But if I must afflicted be, 

To suit some wise design ; 
Then, man my soul with firm resolves- 

To bear and not repine ! 

THE FIRST SIX VERSES 

Of the ninetieth fisalm. 

O THOU, the first, the greatest friend 

Of all the human tace! 
Whose strong right hand has ever been 

Their stay and dwelling place 1 

Before the mountains heavM their heads 

Beneath thy forming hand, 
Before this ponderous globe itself, 

Arose at thy command ; 

That pow*r which raisM and still upholds 

'I his universal frame, 
From countless, unbeginning time 

Was ever still tiie same. 

Those mighty periods of years 

Which seem VI to us so vast. 
Appear no more before thy sight 

Than yesterday that's pist. 

Thou giv*st the word : Tliy creature, man, 

Is to existence brought ; 
Again thou say'st, * Ye sons of menu 

* Return ye into nought!* 



C M4 ) 

Tboii layest them, with all their cares,. 

In everlasting sleep , 
As with a llootl thou luk*st them off 

With ovcrwhchniny; sweep. 

They flouriah like the morning flow'r, 

In beauty's pride urrayM ; 
But loujij ere nij^ht rut down it lies 

All withe rM and decay M. 

TO A MOUNTAIN DAISY. 

On turnirtff one doxm with the plough in J/iril^ 178*. 

WF.K, modest, ciimson-tippit flow*r 
Thou*s met me in an evil hour; 
Foy I maun crush anvanp: the stotirc 

Thy slender stem. 
To Sparc thcc now is past my pow'r. 

Thou bonnie gem. 

Alas ! its no thy neebor sweet, 
The bonnie I.ark\ companion meet I 
Bending; thee 'manp,tl<e dewy weetl 

Wi' sprecki'd breast, 
When upward-sprin^in^, blyllie, to greet 

The pin'pling east. 

Cauld blew llu* bitter-biting north 
I'ponihy t\\v\\\ humble birth ; 
Vet cheerfully thou ^lentcd forth 

Amid the storm, 
Scarce rcar'd abovi> the parent earth 

Thy tender Torm. 

The flaunting fiow*rsour gardens yield, 
lli^h sheltMng woods and wu's n\aun shield 
But thou beneath the rar.don\ birld 

O* clod or j-lane, 
Adonis the histie t^tikhl: .Jt, /(/, 

Unseen, aiane. 

There, in thy scanty mantle clad, 
Thy snawie bosom sun-ward s])read» 
Thou lii'ls thy unassinninj; !icad 



C n* 1 

In humble Ruise ; 
But now the share upicars tiiy bed 
And low thou lies ! 

Such is the fate of artless Maid, 
Sweet T^'nyVr^ of the rural shade I 
IJy love's simplici'v betray *(l, 

And guililess trust, 
•Till she, likeihee, all soil'd, is hiid 
Low i' the dust. 

Such is the fate of simple Bard, 
On life's roupfii ocean luckless sturr'd ! 
Unskilful he to note the card 

0( /ntuirnt /or<r, 
'Till billows rage, and ^:ales blow hard, 

And \/hclm him o'er I 
Such fate to sujfnunff nvorth is ft'iv'n, 
Who lon^ witlj wants and woes has striv*fl 
By human pride or cunninp; driv'n 

To mis'ry*s brink, 
* Till wrcnch'd of cv'ry stay but llrav'n^ 

lie, ruin'd, sink! 

Kv*n thou who mourn'st tl»e Daisy's fate, 
That fate is thine — no distant d ite ; 
Stern Kuin's/v/oz/(f/i-.v//a/v drives, elate, 

Full on thy bloom, 
*Till ci'ush'd beneath the furrow's weight. 

Shall be thy dooml 

TO RUIN. 

I. 

ALL hail ! inexorable lord ! 
At whose destruction-breathing \Vord> 

The mighlicat empires fall ! 
Thy crueK woe-delighted train, 
The ministers of grief and pain, 

A 9\illen welcome, all ! 
With slcrn-rcsolvM, despairing eye. 

1 see each pointed dart; 



( 110 ) 

Tor ©He lias ewt my dcarrat tytt 
And quivtrs in my heart. 
1 hen low 'ring, and pouring;, 

The sronn no more I dread j 
Tli«.»* thick'ninf; and black'ning. 
Round my devoted head. 

IL 

And thou grim pow'r, by life abhorr'd, 
NA'hilc life w f}lrustirc can afford, 
( )h ! hear a wretch's pray'r ! 
No more 1 shrink appal'd, afraid i- 
I court, 1 beg tliy friendly aid. 
To close tiiis scene oFcare I 
When shall my soul, in silent peace. 

Resign life's yof//<Nv» day ; 
My weary heart its throbbings cease^ 
Cold mould'ring- in the clay ; 
No fear more, no tear more, 
To stain my lifeless face; 
Enclasped, and grasped 
Within thy cold embrace ! 

TO MISS L^ WITH BEATTIE'S POEMq^ 
M a AeW'Ycar's Gi/ty Jan. 1, 1787; 

AGAIN the silent wheels of time 

Their annual round have driv'n, 
And you, tho' scarce in maiden prime. 

Are so mucli nearer Hcav'n. 

No gifts have I from Indian coasti 

The infant year to hail ; 
I send you more than India boasts 

In E(ir,'in\ simple talc. 

Our sex with guile and faithless love 

Is charg'd, perhaps too irue ; 
But may, dear maid, each lover pro\f. 

An jt(hv:n blill to yoiv. 



( MT ) 
EPISTLn TO A YOUNG FUIRNO 

Jl/rti/-—- 1780. 

1 
1 li\N(f Imc thou'vlif tny ytMiilifu* liicnd, 

A M)m«;lliin|^ to fiiive sriu ymi, 
Tlio' it nhotilfl Hcrv;' wvi ithcr end 

Tljan jtiNl u kiiul w //nw/o ; 
hut how the Mihjoct-lhcitu m ly f;;unj, 

IaI llin' .viuI rhiincfrlctcnnuic; 
Pti'ii.ips i( may (inn «miI a nin^^, 

IViliaps turn out a Harmon 

II. 

Yc'II fry the world Roon. n)y lad, 

And .'tiulrrw dear, hclievc ine, 
y«.''ll find nianliind an u-»co H(iuafj» 

And nmr.kle they \\\Ay irrit'vc ye J 
l''or(,.irc and tronhleNct your thou};l>t, 

Kv'n when your cikI'h atlanuMJ ; 
And a' your views m ty rom;; to nouj^ht^ 

Where cv'ry nerve in Hlraincd, 
III. 
ril no say men are villainH u» ; 

The real, lia'den'd wu.ked, 
^Vha liue no cheek l)ut lunnan I»\v, 

Are to a few reslricked : 
li'il och, nuvnkin<l utc utwo weak, 

An* little to he he trusted ; 
ir.vf'//the wuv'rinj!; halance .hi\kr. 

Its raiely right adjusted 1 

IV. 

V' I (lu y whu fa* in foitunc'li Strife, 
Their (ate we should na censure^ 

Tor still the imfwrtatit r/if/of lile, 
Tiiey ((pially may answer ; 

A man may hae an honewt he:irt, 
I'ho' poortith hourly »tiirc him i 



V lift 5 

A Tiinii ni;iy t\k a nc-bor's part, 
\cl luvc nuc a;.v/i to spare him. 

V. 

Ay free, aff Iian* voiir &tory tell, 

When wj* a bosom rroiiy j 
But still Ivccp somcthin{.^ to yonrsc) 

Ye scarcely tell to ony. 
Conceal voiirsel as weel\s you can. 

Krae ciitiral dissection ; 
But keek thro* cv*ry other man, 

Wi' sharpenM sly inspection. 
VI. 
The sacred lowe o' weel-placM lov^ 

L\ixuiiantly indnhre it ; 
But never letnpt th* f/i'icif rovr^ 

Tho' nuethini;- should divuhjjc it ; 
I wave the (juantum o* t!»e sin, 

The hazard of concealing: ; 
But och ! it hardens a* within, 

And petrifies the feeiini^ ! 
VII. 
To catch dame fortune's golden smil^. 

Assiduous wait upon her ; 
And fratlier jrear by ev'ry wile 

That's justified by honor; 
Not for to hide U in a hed).>;c, 

\or for a train-.iUendaiu ; 
Bui for the ^;lorious privdegc 

Of being indr/icndcnt. 

VIII. 
The fear o* hell's a hun\>;man*8 vrhxp- 

To baud the wretch m order ; 
But where ye feel your honor grip, 

Let that ay be yo\ir border : 
Its siii;iaesl touches, uistant |>4iusc— • 

Debar a' siile pretences ; 
And resolutely keep its laws»* 

Uncaring consc(jUcncc». 



c n^ ) 

IX. 

The Rreat Crrutur to nvi^iCt 

Must sure oecoiiic the crraturr ^ 
But still the prcadiin^ cant forbear, 

Aufl ev'n li»c rij-icl f'-aturc; 
Yet Mc'ci wit I wits jMor.ifK: to runfj^e^ 

Be compla.aunco exteivlcd : 
An Alhitst's laugh's a poor cxchaiigt 

Tor Deity uflendcd ! 

X. 

When ranliniif round iu pleasure's ring, 

Hcli^;ioii may be bliruied ; 
Or if sbe ^;ic a random tiring^ 

It uiay i)c little minded; 
But when <>n life we*re tempc»t-driv*n., 

A conscience but a canke'- — 
A correspondence fix*d wi' Heav'uj 

Is sure a noble anchor ! 

xr. 

Adieu, dear, amial^le youth ! 

Your heart can ne*er be wantinqj ! 
May ])ru(lence, fortitude, and truth, 

Krtct your brow undauntin^! 
In plouKhman phrase, * (iod send you ;35)ecd^' 

Stdl daily to j^row wiser: 
And may you belter reck the rtdc, 

Than ever did tli' adviser. 

ON A SCOTCH BARD, 
GOmi 10 TllK IVES'I If^DIES, 

A* YIC wha live by soups o* drink, 
A' ye wha live by crambo-clink, 
'\* yc wha live and never think, 

Come mourn wi' mc • 
"^WT BilUea'* gien us a* a jink. 

An* owre the *e» 



( m ) 

Lament l>im a* yc rantiii core, 
\A'ha dearly like a random-splore, 
Kac niair he'll join the mrrn/'roar^ 

in social key ; 
For now he's tuVn ajiitlier shore, 

An* owi'c the sea! 

The bonnie lassies wee! may wish birt^» 
>i!(l in thcii iWixr /irtitiort'^ place iiiin : 
lie widows, wives, an' a' niuv bless hiitt« 

Wi'tearhrc'e; 
For Nveel I wal tliey'll sairly miss him 
That's owre the sea ! 

O fortune, they hae room to grumble! 
Hadst thou taen affsome diowsy butnmic 
VVha can do nouj^hv but fyke an* fumble^ 

' Twad been nae pKa; 
But he was gleg as ony wumble, 

That*sowTe the sea! 

Auld cantie A'//r may weepers wear, 
An* stain them wi' the saut, saut tear; 
*T\vill mak her poor auld heart 1 icar^ 

In flinders flee ; 
He was lier launaf monic a year, 

Thai's owre tiie sea! 

He saw misfortune's cauld tior^wuf 
I. inj; nuKst'ring up a bitter blast; 
\ jillet brak his heart at last, 

111 may she be I 
So, took abirtli afore the mast, 

An' owre the sea. 
To trenible under fortune's <um mock. 
Ou scarce a belly lu' o' dnnimuKk 
\\\* hispioud, ind' pendent stomach. 

Could ill agree ; 
So row't his hurdits iu a /:aww ck, 
An* owre t!ic sea. 
He ne*er was ii^ien to !>rreut misj^uidingj. 
Vet coin his pouches wad na bide iu % 



i i«» ) 

Wi* him it ne'er was nru/rr hidings 
He (kalt il free ; 

The muse was u* that iic took pride in, 
That'ft owre the sca. 

Javiatca bodi'-ft^ use him >veel, 
An* Imp him up iti cozie bid : 
Ye'll fiiul liim ay a dainty ciiiel, 

An* fou* ()' ^lee ; 
He wad nawran^c'd the vera tlcil, 

That's owre the sea. 

FarewccU my rhijmr-covi/iosinir biUie<^ 
Tour native soil was x'x^hi ill-willie ; 
But may ye flourish Hkc a hlly, 

Now honnilie ! 
Vil toast ye in my I)indni()st j^illie, 

Tho* owre the sea ! 



TO A HAGGIS. 

FAIR fa* your honest sonsie face 
Great chieftain o* the puddin-race ! 
Aboon them a* yc tak your place, 

Painch, tripe, or tha'irm> 
"Weel are ye wordy of a i^race 

As lang's my arm. 

The p^roaninp; trencher there ye fill, 
Your hiu'dies like a distant hill, 
Your^/n wad help to mend a mill 
in time o* need, 
While thix)' your pores the dews distill 
Like amber bead. 

His knife see rustic-labour dij^ht, 
>An* cut you up wi* ready slig^ht, 
Trenching your p^ushini^ entrails brig^ 

I^ikeonic ditch ; 
And then, O what a }»:lorious si^jht, 

Warm-reckin, rich-t 



< iii ) 

Then lu.i.i iv)i- horn they stretch an* striyc, 
Dcil tak iht hiiuhiiost.on tluy chive, 
'I ill a* their wcel-RwaUM kytcs l)clyvc 
Arc Innt like (hums ; 
"Ihen auUl gudcmun, nuusi like to rivci 
Jitf/ianiii hums. 

Is there that o'er his Fi\ nch njgoutt 
Or olio that waU staw a s«»w, 
Or Jricasace >vml make her spew 

\\ i' peifei t s( onner, 
l.ook down \\\* sneering, seornfu* view 
On sic u (Unner! 

Poor devil ! see him owre his trash) 
As feckless asu wither'd rash. 
His spindle shank a giule wiiip-lash, 

I lis nievc a nit ; 
Thro* bloody flood or held to dash, 
O how unfit ! 

But mark tlie rustic, /iiif(j'/«:/'rrf, 
The t!xmi)linjj^ earth resounds his tread. 
Clap in his walie nieve a blade, 

lleMl mak it whissle ; 
An* legs, an* arms, aii* heads will sned, 
Like taps o* thrisslc. 

Ye pow'ra wha mak mankind your cait. 
And dish them out their bill o* tare, 
Auld Scotland wants nac skinkin^ ware 

That iau]^s in luj^gies j 
But, if yc wish her }j:r;"\tefu* pray*r, 

Oic her a HaggU .' 

A DEDICATION TO C;*«**» H*******, I^v 

EXPECT na, Sir, in this narration, 
A fleechiu, fleth'rin ded'iculion. 
To roose you \ip, an' ca* you p:ude. 
An' sprung; o' great an* noble hluid, 
iBecause ye're sirnam'd like his f^mcr^ 
Periiap* rcUucd to tiie race ; 



Then Yfht'w Vm tirM — and stt<; are ye, 
Wi' ni'jity a fulsomt\ sinin* lie, 
SAoi (i|) a tlvcc, liow I Hiop slioi't, 
Tor fear your nu'clcsly l)c hurt 

This uK\y tl<)— tiium do, Sir, wi* them wha 
Mnnn i>K.'ase the jjrcut folk for a wamcfou ; 
For me! sae lui^h I noodna bow, 
For. Lord bo thaiikit, I ran hlrmgh : 
And whtn I dovvna yoke a nuii^, 
ThiMi, Lord be thankit, T cu>7 di\tf f 
Sac I shall say, an* that's nao flalt'rin, 
Its just v/'c /lotty uii* aic/uitvon. 

Tlie Poirt, some |jfU le ani^el help him, 
Or else, I fear soine ill ane skelj) him, 
He may do weel for u* he's done yet. 
But only he's no just be^l;un yet. 

The Patron, (Sir, ye m nm forjijiu me, 
I winna lie, come what will o' me) 
On ev'ry hand it will allow'tl be, 
lie's juii — iiae better than he should be. 

T readily and freely jj^rant, 
He (lowna see a |)oor man want ; 
What's no his ain he winna tak it, 
What ainc'.e he s.iys he winna break it , 
On^jht he cai^ lend he'll n(» refus't 
'Till afi his Rudeness is uhus'd ; 
And rascals uhyles that do him wnmg, 
Kv*n //;«', he does na mind it lan^: 
As mastir, landlord, husband, iatlier, 
He does na fail liis part in either. 

Hut then, nae thanks to him for a' that; 
Nae ((ud/i/ sifin/itom ye can ca' that; 
lis niethmg but a milder fealm'C, 
Of our jjoor, sinfu' corrupt nature: 
Ye'll j^et the best o* moral works, 
'Man^ black Genloos and Pa};;an Turks, 
Or hunters wild on ronotaxiy 
Wha never heard of orthodoxy. 



( It4 ) 

Tliat he's thr poor mrtu*?* fmnd in ncctt* 

'I'hc .vv».'*/t*?HW'.' ill vord nnt! (Kcd, 

! ■ 

Thy ICHH o* ii\ usands Ihou hn»t ^Tntn ! 
\ ain i* Ills \u^K\ whose »t'.\y nnd iivist il» 
In ft .: ' n\orv\v, truth and justice 1 

N«,w->,tjvtcli a point to catch u pluck : 
Al>usi> u hiothcr to Uiii baok , 
?^tv»\l iluou^vh u wr.w/j«>r<* IVao a wh-re, 
Tvit puint \hv \\\kv th«t tuks tlic fi o^-; 
\ .• to the poor like (»»)U* whunslanc, 
Aiul hmul tluir nosrs to tho K'mustune : 
My cv*ry \\rt o' A );Wlhievin4j: ; 
Is'o mJiuVr, stick io xound \ii<vh^. 

Kcnrn thivomilo pruyS"*, an* lu\lf-mil<s i!:r«ce<f» 
^^ i* wooUspivud loovvsi, an* lunjv, wry iacca; 
<;iuut up :\ sou«nia, Icui^thvuM )^it)au, 
And dan»a a' parties but your OTvn; 
1*11 warrant tluiu yc*iv nac dcct'iver* 
A suudy* siuixly, staunch believer. 

C) yc Nvha Icuvo thesprinj^s of Cafvittf, 
Vor ^HtHiir tiu6s of your ttiu dclvin 1 
\t sons of luMvsy and cnt>r» 
Vc'll st^uK'day snucilin quaking: terror! 
\\ hen venj;\ancc draws iho swojxl in >vn\t>K 
And .n the luc thjx>\vs the sheath; 
When ru'n, with his sAwepin^ ^fAum, 
.lu>.t iVels *iili iuuv*n couunission fijies \\\\\\ ; 
While o'er the A<jr/; pale uiis'ry moans, 
Auvl strikes the ever-vleep'ning- tones» 
Stdl louder shrieks, aUvl heavier grt>iU\s I 

Vovu' paixlon. Sir* for this iligression, 
t i^uiisl h>r^"Ol my c/* c//cu/f (w ; 
Bvit when divinity comes cross me. 
My ixfudcrs still ai-c sui'c to lose mc. 

So, Sir, ye see *l was nac dAt\ vapour^ 
Hut I maturtjly thought it pi\>pci», 



} 



Whtii a' my works I did nview, 
T<» dedicate tliciu, Sir, to t/ou: 
Btr.Hiisc (yc need na tuk it ill) 
I ihoii^ht (Item Momethin^ like yoiirBcl. 

'I'heii patronize them vvi* your fuvori 
Aful your petitioner shall ever 
I had amaisl said rxur /intf), 
Jliit that's a word 1 nee<l na say : 
Tor prayin 1 hae little skill o't ; 
I'm haith dead sweer, an* wretched ill o't, 
Knt I'sc repeat each poor man's //rayrr, 
Timt kens or hears about yon, Sir 

•May ncVr misfortune'sf^owlin^ hark, 

* Howl thro* the dwelling; o* the C/nk! 

* May i\e'er his ^ijen'rons honest heart, 

* For tliat same ^ijen'ious spirit smart ! 

* May K***'**Vs far houor'd name 

* Lonjijheet his hymeneal (Lime, 
<"l'il| |l**»*«»'sat least a di'Acn, 

* \\'c iVac tlielr nuptial lahiMii-s risen : 

* l''ive hont\ic lasses round their table, 

* And seven braw fallows, stout an* able 

* To si-rve lh(*ir kini;* and country wecl, 

* Hv Word or ])en or pointed steel ! 

* M \y health and pt-ace with mutual rays, 

* Shitu' on the evening;' o* his days; 

* 'Till his wee cuilie .A>///i's ier-oe, 

* When el)l)in)j: lifenai- mairnhill llow, 

* The last, sad, inonrnfu' ritca bestow/ 

I will not wind a lanr: conclusion, 
Wi' rompIiiTH'nturv effuHlon ; 
Hut whilst your wishes and endnnvourfi, 
Are blest with f()rtnn<''s smiles and favours, 
T am. <1ear Sir, witli zeal most fervent, 
Your much indebted, Innnble servant. 

B\i1 if (wiiich powers above prevent) 
That iron-lnarted cnri, llanf^ 
Attendtd in his f^rim advances, 
I)y bad miutakcs and black mischances, 
h2 



} 



( 136 ) 

"While hopes, and joys, and pleasiirei fly hini, 

Make you as poor a dop; as I am. 

Your hianbh servaJit then no more; 

For who would humbly serve the poor ? 

But by a poor man's hopes in Heav*n ! 

While recollection's |)ow'r is given, 

If, in the vale of humble life. 

The victim sad of fortune's strife, 

T, through the tender j-^ushing tear, 

Should recognize my mauler dtar^ 

I friendless, low, we meet together. 

Then, Sir, your hand — my Jfriend -jXiA brother ! 

I TO A LOUSE, 

On seeing one on a Laciy*8 bonnet^ at churcf^ 

HA! whare ye gaun, ye crawlin ferlie! 
Your impudence protects you sairly : 
{ canna say but ye strunt rarely, 

Owre gauze and lace ; 
Tho' faith, I fear ye dine but sparely 
In sic a place. 

Ye ugly, creepin, blasted wonner, 
Detested, shunn*d by saunt an' sinnef, 
How dare ye set your fit upon iier, 

Sae fine a lady I 
Gac somewhere else and seek yourdinnerv 

On some poor body. 
Swith, in some beggar's haffet squattle ; 
There ye may t reep, and sprawl, and sprattle 
Wi' itlier kindred, jumpin cattle, ^ 

In shoals and nations ; 
Whare horn nor baj-.e ne'er dare unsettle 

Your thick plantations. 

Now baud you there, ye're out o' sight} 
Below the fatt'rils, snug an' tight ; 
Na, faith ye yet! ye'll no Va^ right 



( «w ) 

Till yeVe got on it, 
The vera tapmost, towVinj^ height 
O* Mhii's bonnet. 

My sooth ! ri^ht baulfl ye set your nose out 
As plump and gray as onie groztt ; 
O for some rank, mercuiial rozet, 

Or fell, red smeddum, 
I'd gie you sic a heaity doze o't, 

Wad dress your droddum I 

I wadna been surpris*d to spy 
You on an auld wife's fliuinen toy ; 
Or aiblins some bit duddie boy, 
On's vvyliecoat; 
But Miss's fine Liinanu! fie. 

How dare yc do't! 

O, Jtmiy^ dinna toss your head. 
An' set your beauties a* abread ! 
Ye little ken what cursed speed 

The blastic's makin! 
Thaewmf* and^wj?-^r-e/K/.v, I ilread, 
Are notice tukin! 

O wad some pow'r the giftie gie us 
7'o fier 'iui's^Ih or othfvs aee ua! 
It wad frae monie a bhinder fi ee us 
And foolish notitiu: 
What airs in dress an* ^ait wad lea'e us^ 
And ev'n Devotion ! 

ADDRESS TO EDfNBURGH. 

I. 
EDTN A ! Scofia*s darlinp: «icat! 

All hail thy palaces and tow'rs, 
Where once beneath a monarch's feet 

Sat Icj-iislation's sovereign pow'rs! 
From marking wildly-scatter'd flow'rs, 

As on the banks of y/vr I stray'd, 
And sing;ing, lone, the linp^'jing hour^ 

I shelter in thy honor'd shade. 



( 128 ) 

IT. 

Here wealth still swells the golden tide, 

As busy trade his labour plies : 
There architecture's noble pride 

Bids elec:ance and splendor rise ; 
Here justice* from her native skies, 

High wields her balance and her rod ; 
There learning, with his eagle eyes, 

Seeks science in her coy abode. 
III. 
Thy S'^ns, Edina^ social, kind. 

With open arms the stranger hail; 
Ther views enlarg'd their lib*ral mind, 

Above the narrow, rural valej 
Attentive still to sorrow's wail, 

Or modest merit's silent claim ; 
And never may their sources fail ! 

And never envy blot their name I 

IV. 

Thy daughters bright thy walks adorn! 

Gay as the i2;ilded summer sky. 
Sweet as the dewy milk-white thorn, 

De.ir as the raptur'd tlirill of joy ! 
Fair B strikes th* adoring eye, 

Heaven's beauties on my fancy shine ; 
I see the ftire of love on h'urh^ 

And own his work indeed divine ! 
V. 
There watchincr high tlie least alarms. 

Thy routi:h rude fort'tss gleams afar ; 
Like some bold vet'run, grey in arms, 

•\nd mark'd with numy a seamy star ? 
Tiu- pond'rous wall and massy bar. 

Grim-rising o'er tlie iufi:.u;ed rock ; 
Ha''" oft withstood assailing war, 

And oft rept-U'd the invader's shock. 

vr. 

With a^v^ -sU-uck thought and pitying teari^, 
I view tjut nobie, stuteiy dome, 



(' 139 V 

Where Scnfia's Uini^s of other yenrss 
FamM htrorn Inul tlu'h' royal home :- 

Alas, how chanj>M the tiin-j-i to conic I 
Their royal name low in the dust ! 

Their hapless race wild wind*riiv< roaml 
The' rigid law cries out, 'twas just I 

Vlt. 

Wild heats my heart to trace your step^ 

\Vhos<i ancestors in days of yore, 
Thro* hostile ranks and ruinVl iijaps 

Old Scotia\t bloody lion bore : 
Ev'n / who sin;.': in rustic lore, 

Haply mu sires have left their shed, 
And facM \rv\m dangler's loudest roar, 

Bold followinj^ where your fathers led 1 

VIII. 

EcHnn / Scotia*s darling seat ! 

All hail thy p.iiuces and towers, 
Where once beneath a monarch's feet 

Sat legislation's sovereign powers ! 
From marking wihlly-scatterM fl jw'rs, 

As on the banks o{ ^ur I stray'd. 
And singing, lor.e, the ling'ring hours, 

1 shelter in thy honor*d shade. 

EPISTLE TO J. LAPRAIK, 

Jn Old Scottish Bard, jifiril Ut^ 1785. 

WHILE briers and woodbines budding grecin 
An* paitricks scraichin loud at e*en. 
An* morning poussie whidden seen, 

Inspire my muse. 
Tins freedom in an unknoivn frien', 

1 pray excuse. 

On fasten-e*en we had a rockin, 
To ca* the crack and wave our stockin j 
And there was muckle fun an* jokin, 
Ye need na doubt i 



( J30 ) 

.At length we had n hearty yokin 

At Afl/zj* about. 
There was ae mnj^, amang the rest, 
Abf)on t'u m a' It plcas'd me best, 
Tlial some kind husband had addrest 

To some sweet wif« : 
It thirlMthe heart-strin^rs thro* the breast, 

A' to the life. 

I've scarce heard oiijht djscrlb'd sae wcel^ 
What p:<jn*rous> manly bosoms feel : 
Thooj>;lu 1, ' Can this hj Popj, or Steele, 

* Or B'-attie's wavk I 
They tauld me *t\vas an odd kind chiel 

About Muirkirk. 

It pat me fidjj:in-fain to hear*t, 
And sae about him ther<:; I spiur't, 
Then a' that ken't him round dcclar*tj 

He had inj^we^ 
That nunc excellM ii, few cum near% 

It was sae fine. 
That set him to a pint of ale, 
An* citl.er douce or merry tale, 
Or rliymes an* san^s he'd made himsel, 

Or witty catches, 
' Tween Inverness- and Tiviotdaie, 

lie had few matches. 
Then up I j^at, an* swoor an aith, 
Tho* I sliould pawn my pleu^li and giaitjj, 
O." die a cadger pownie's death, 

At some dyke-back, 
A pint an' gill I'd irie them baith, 

To iiear your crack. 

But, first an* foremi>st, I should tell, 
Ainai:\t as soon as I could spell, 
I to I he cramfw-jhiglr fell, 

I'ho, rude an* rough; 
Yet crooning to a body's sel, 

Doea weel encugh, 



( »si > 

I tim Drc fioet^ in a sense, 
But just a rhymti\ like, l)y ( liance, 
An* hae to learning nac pictcncc, 

Yd, what il.c matter! 
When'er my muse does on me glance, 

I jingle at her. 

Your critic-folk may cock their nose, 
And say, * How can you e'er propose, 
* You wha ken hardly vrmr frae /irofie, 

* To mak a mmr .?* 
But, by your leaves, my leained foes, 

Ve're maybe wrang. 

What's a* your j irgon o* your schools, 
Your I^atin names for horn's an' stoulu ; 
If hone&t nature made you foola^ 

What sairs your grammui^? 
Y^c'd better taen up spades and shools, 

Or knappin-hammers. 

A set o' dull conceited hashes. 
Confuse their brains in college classes ! 
I'hey ^an^^m stirks, and comr ouf asses, 

Plain trutli to speak ; 
An* sync they think to climl) Parnassu« 

By dint o' (n-eek! 

Gie me ae spark o* Nature*s fire, 
That's a* the learning I desire ; 
Then though I drudge thro* dub an' mire 

At |)leuich or cart, 
Vly muse, thougii hamcly in attire. 

May touch the heart. 

() for a spunk o' Mlaf'\ glee, 
Or Fer^^uii()n\^ the l)auld and sler, 
Or bright J-a/iruIk*s^ my friend to bc^ 

If I can hit it ! 
That would be lear eneugh for mc, 

If 1 could get it. 

Now, Sir, if ye hae friends enow, 
Tho' real friends, I b'lieve arc fcw, 



i 13fc ) 

Yet, if ymir cctalopiie be fou, 

I'sc no insist, 
But gii yc want ae fncml tl;at*s tnifct 

Tm vn your list. 

I winna blaw about niysel; 
As ill 1 rikr. luy iiuits to tell ; 
But iricmls and folk that wish inc well, 

They somitiTUcs rooseinc; 
Iho' I maun own, as monit still 
As far abuse nie. 

There's ae wee faut they whiles lay to mCj 
I like the lasse* — (iude forp;ie nie! 
Tor monie a plack they wheedle frae me, 

At dance or fair; 
May be some ithn- thm^ they ^^c me 
They weel can spare. 

But Manchline race, or ATauchlhif fair> 
I should be proud to meet you there ; 
We'se gic ae night's discharp^c to care, 

11 wc loregatl.er, 
An* hae a swap o* rhimin-ivarr 

\Vi* ane anither. 

The four-j»;ill chap, we'se gar him clattev* 
An'kivscn him wi* retkin water; 
Syne we'll sit down an' tak our whittef, 

To cheer our heart ; 
iixC faith, w«'sc be accpiainted better 

Before we part. 

Awa ye selfish warly race, 
"W- ha think that bavins, sense, an' i^racc, 
Ev'n love an* friendship, should p^ive placr 

To catrh'thr'/Uack! 
t dinna like to see your face, 

Nor l»ear your crack. 

But yc whom social pleasure charms, 
^Vhose hearts the tide of kindness warm?* 
^Vho hold your bint: on the terms 

* Each aid the oU^er^'* 



Come to my bowl, come to my arms, 

My friends my brothers I 

But to conclude my lan^ epistle, 
Ah inv auld pen's worn to the j^risslc : 
Twa lines frae yxm wad gar me fissle, 

Who am most fervent- 
While I can cither sinjj;; or whistle. 

Your iViend and servant 

To THE SAME. 

jifiril2U\.y 1785. 

WHILK ncw-raM kyc rout at the .stakf. 
And pownies reek in pleuj^h or braik, 
This hour on eVnin^s tA\r^it I take, 

1 o own V\\\ debtor, 
To honest-hearted atild /.n/iraiky 

For his kind letter, 

Forjesket salr, with weary legs, 
Rattlin the corn out'owre the rij^s, 
Or dealing thro* amang the nai^s 

Their ten hotirs bite, 
My awkart muse sair pleads and bej^, 
I would na write. 

The lapelless ramfeezl'd hiz/ie» 
She's Baft at best ; and somethinjj lazy 
Quo* she, * Ye ken. we've been Kae busy, 

* This month an* mair, 

' Thftt trouth my head is grown right dizzl^, 

* An' something sair.' 

* Her dowff excu»es pat me mad : 
Conscience,* says I, * ye thowless jad - 
I'll write, an* that a hearty blaud, 

* This vera night ; 
So dinna ye affront your trade, 

' But rhyme it right 

* Shall buul 1 T.afiraik, the king o' hcartfi, 
'f'lio' mankind were a \)\xcV. o* cartes, 



( 1^4 ) 

^ Roose you sae weel for your deserts, 

* In termsi sae friendly, 
'* Yet ye'll neglect to shaw your pans, 

* An' thank him kindly 5* 

Sae I gat p^per in a blink. 
An* down ^Sicdstumfiie in the ink^ 
Quoth I, * Before I sleep a wink, 

* I vow ril close it ; 
* An* if ye winna mak it clink, 

* By jove 1*11 prose it !* 

Sae We begun to scrawl, but whether 
In rhyme, or prose, or baith thegither, 
Or some hotch-potch that's rightly neither, 

Let time mak proof; 
But I shall scribble down some blether 
Just clean afF-loof. 

My worthy friend, ne'er grudge an' carp, 
Tho' fortune use you hard an* sharp -, 
Come, kittle up your moorland harp. 

Wl' gleesome touch ! 
Ne*er mind how fortune ivaft an' tvarfi ; 
She's but a b-lch. 

She's gien me monie a jirt an* ileg, 
Sin I could straddle owre a rig ; 
But, by the L — d, tho' I should beg 

VVi' lyart pow, 
I'll laugh, an* sing, and shake my leg. 
As lang's I dow I 

Now comes the sax and twentieth eimmer, 
l^re seen the bud upo* the timmer, 
Svill persecuted by the limmer 

Frae year to year ; 
But yet despite the kittle kimmer» 

/, Rob^ am here. 

Do ye envy the city Gtwr, 
Behint a kist to lie and skient, 
•Or purse proud big wi* cent, per cent. 
And mtickle wame. 



C 135 > 

In sOme bit brugh to represent 

A BaHie*s name ^ 

Or is*t the paughty feudal Thane, 
Wi* rufH*d sark an' glancing cane, 
Wha thinks himsel nae sheep-shank bane, 

But lordly stalks, 
While caps and bonnets aff are taen, 
As by he walks ? 

O Thou wha gies us each gud-i g,lft ! 
Gie me o' wit and sense a lift, 
Then turn mc, if Thou please, adrift, 
Thro* Scotland wide; 
Wi' cits nor lairds I wadna shift, 
In a* their pride ! 

Were this the charter of our state, 
"* On pain o* hell be rich and great,' 
Damnation then wad be our fate, 

Beyond remead j 
But thanks to heaven, that's no the gat^; 

We learn our creed. 

For thus the royal mandate ran 
WIk'U first the human race began, 

* The social, friendly, honest man, 

» VVhate'er he be, 

• *Tis he fulfills great A'ature*s fdan, 

' An' none but At-.' 

O mandate glorious and divine 1 
The followers of the ragged Nine, 
"Poor thoughtless dtvils! yet may shine 

In glorious light. 
While sordid sons of Mammon's line 

Are dark as night. 

The' here they scrape, an' squeeze, an' growj, 
Their worthless nievefu' of a soul 
May in some future carcase howl 

The foresi's fright; 
Or in some day -detesting owl 

>Ia^ sliun the light, 



( »ss ) 

Then may Lafiraik and Burns aris^. 
To reach tlieir native, kindred skies, 
And sing their pleasures, hopes, an' joy^> 

In some mild sphere, 
$tin closer krit in friendship's ties 

Each passing year ! 

TO W. S*»**»N,--OcHILTHEE. 

May. 1784 
1 GAT yruf letter, ivlnsoine Willie^ 
Wi* gratefu' heart I thank yon brawUej 
Tho* I maun say't, I wad be silly, 

An' unco vain, 
Shoulcj 1 believe, my coaxia billicj 

Yourfiattcrin strain. 

But t'se bdieve ye kindly mtunt iCf 
i feud be Jaith to think ye hinted 
^roJik gudre, sidektis sklented 

On my poor Musie ; 
TW in »i<j phi'aUen t^rtn^ ye've penned \^ 

I scarce excuse ye. 

yiy senses wad be in a creel, 
Should I but dare a hope to spcel, 
^Vi' JUan ov wi' GUberifidcU 

The braes o* fame j' 
(.)r ^erguson^ the writer chiel, 

A dtsathless name. 

(O Ferguson ! thy glorious parts 
ill suited law's, dr^ musty arts 1 
\\Ty curiae upon your whunstane hearts, 

Ye Enbrugh Gentry ; 
T!k^ tythe o' what ye waste at cartes 

Wad 8to\v'd his pantry I), 

Yet when a tale comes i' my head, 
Or lasses gie my heart a screed, 
As whiles they're like to be my deed, 

(O sad disease!) 
i liittle up my rustic reed; 

It giefi me ease. 



C J3r ) 

Auld Coila now may fidge fu* fain, 
She's gotten Poet's o' her ain, 
Chiels wha their chanters winna ha"fn 

But tune their lays^ 
Till eclioes a' resound again 

Her weel sung praise. 

Nae poet thought her worth his while, 
To set her name in measur'd Stile ; 
She lay like some unken*d-of isle 

Beside J^eiv Holland, 
Or where wild meeting oceans boil 

Besouth Magellan. 

jRamsay an* famous Perguson 
Gied Forth an* Tay a lift aboon ; 
yarrow an' Tweedy to monie a tune, 

Owre Scotland rings, 
While Irivirij Zugar, Jyr, an' Doon^ 

Nae body sings. 
Th* Illi&us, Tiber^ Thames^ an' Sein^, 
Glide sweet in monie "a tunefu* line { 
But Willie, set your fit to mine, 

An' cock your crest, 
We'll gar our streams an* burnie's shine 

Up wi' the best. 

We'll sing auld Collars plains an' fells, 
Her moors red-brown wi* heather bells,. 
Her banks an' braes, her dens an* dells, 

Where p^Iorious Wailace 
Aft bure the gree, as story tells, 

Frae southern billies. 

At JVallac** name what Scottish blojod 
But boils up in a sprinq-tide flood! 
Oft have our fearless fathers strode 

By W'^<i//aa*side, 
Still pressing onward, red-wat shod, 

Or glorious dy'd. 

O sweet are Corla*s hauc:hs an' woods^. 
When llntwhitts chant amang the buclaj 
N 3 



C 15« ) 

And jinkin hares, in amorous which, 
Their loves enjoy, 

While thro' the braes thiit cushat croods 
Willi wailfu* cry ! 

Fv'n winter bleak has charms to me 
When winds rave throuj^h the naked tree; 
Or frost* on hills of Ochittree 

Are Iwary gray ; 
Or blinding driils wild-furious flee, 

Darkening the day ! 

O Nature! a* thy shews an' forms 
To feeling', pensive hearts hae charms ! 
Whether the summer kindjv warms, 

Wi' life an' lij^ht, 
Or winter howls in gusty storms, 

The lang, dark night I 

The muse, nac poet ever fand her, 
'Till hy himsel he learn'd to wander, 
Adown some trotting burn's meander. 

An' no think lani^; 
O sweet to stray an' pensive ponder 

A heart-felt sang I 

The war'Iy race may drudge an* drive 
Hog-shouther, jaundie, stretcli an' strive, 
Let me fair A'c/«'r*s face descrive, 

And I, wi' pleasure, 
:Shall let the busy, grumbling hive, 

Bum owrc their treasure. 
Fareweel, * my rhyme-composing britherl 
We've been owre lang unkenn'd to ither ; 
Mow let us lay our heads thegither, 
In love fraternal : 
May Envy wallop in a tether, 

Black fiend, infernal! 

While highlandmen hate tolls an* taxes; 
While TOoorlan* herd like gude fat braxies/ 



( i:J9 ) 

While terra firniii, on licp axis 
Diurn.vl turns, 

Count on a fritnd, in tulth an' practice, 
In liobert Uuritiiy 



POSTSCRlPr. 



My memory's no worth a preen j 
r had aniaist forj^ottcn clean, 
Ye bade me write you what they mean 

By this n-W'Jg-ht^ 
*Bout which our htrcl^ sac aft liae been 
Maist like to fight. 

In days when mankiTid were but callans 
At ;^rannnar^ log^Cy an' sic talents, 
They took nae pi^ms their speech to balance, 

Or rules to i:ie. 
But spak their thoui;ht, in plain, braid lalhns, 

Like you or me. 
In thae auld times, they tlioujjht the moow» 
Just like a sark or pair o' slioon, 
Wore by degrees, 'till her last roon, 

Gaed past their viewing, 
An* shortly after she was done. 

They gat a new one. 

This past for certain, undisputed ; 
It ne'er came i* their heads to doubt it, 
'Till chiels gat up an' wad confute it, 

And ca'd it wrang; 
An' muckle din there was about it, 

Baith loud an' lang. 

Some herds, weel learn 'd upo* the beuky 
Wad threap auld folk the thing misteuk, 
For 'twas the auld moon turn'd a neuk, 

An' out o' sight, 
An' backlins- coming, to tlie leuk, 

She grew mair bright 



( ue ) 

This was denyM^ it was affirmM ; 
The /icras an' /lisstls were alarin'd, 
The rev'rtMul gray beards rav*d and storm'd; 

That bcardit ss laddies 
Should think they better were inform'd 

Than their aiild daddiea. 
Frae less to mair it gaed to sticks ; 
Frae words an* aiths to clours and nicks ; 
An' mohie a fellow gat his licks, 

Wi* hearty crunt; 
An* some, to learn them for their tricks, 

Were hang'd an* brunt. 

This game was play*d in monie lands, 
An* au/d light caddies iiure sic hands, 
That faith, the youngsters took the sands 

Wi* nimble shanks^ 
Till lairds forbade, by strict commands, 

Sic bludy pranks. 
But neitf^linrhf hrrds gat sic a cowe. 
Folk thought tliem ruin*d stick-an-stoWc, 
*Till now amaist on every kuowc, 

Ye'll find ane plac*d ; 
An* some, their iictv-iight fair a>x)w. 

Just quite barefac*d. 

Nae doubt X\\c aitld- light ^flecks are bleating 
Their 2<. a'ous herds are vex*d an* sweatin ; 
Myscl Tve even seen them greetin 

Wi* girnin spite, 
To hear the moon so sadly lie*d on 
By word an* write. 

But shortly they will cowc the louns ! 
Sonu arld'Hi^hi^ herds in neeb^r towns 
Are mind't in things they ca* halloon^, 

To lak a flight, 
Au' stay a month aniang the mcojjs 
An* see them ri.ujht. 
Oude observation thev will gie them, 
4n* when the *vld moon's gaun to lea'c thcna, 



( HI # 

Hie hindmost slniird, tlicy'll fetch it \vi' theiifi, 

Just i* tlieir pouch, 
An* when the neiv-Ught billies see them, 
I think they'll crouch i 

Sae ye observe that a* this clatter 
Is naethinj^ but a * moonshine matter ;' 
But tho* (lull prose-folk latin splatter 

In logic tulzie, 
I hope, we bardies ken soinc better 

Than mind sic brulzk^ 



EPISTl.E TO J. R****** 

InclQ&ing some Pccms 

O ROUGH, rude, n-ady-wittcd R**»»»«, 
The wale o* cocks for fun and drinkin ! 
There's monic godly folks arc ihinkin, 

Your dreams* an' tricke 
Will send you, Korah«likc, a-sinkin, 

Straught to auld Nick's. 

Ye hae sae monie cracks an' cants. 
And in your wicked drucken rants, 
Ye mak a devil o' the saunls, 

An* fill thtu) fou ; 
And then their failin};s, flaws, an' wants. 
Are a' seen thro*. 

Hypocrisy in mercy spt re it ! 
That holy robe, O (iiinia tear it ! 
.S[\u*t foi' their sakes \'rha uflen wear it, 

The lads in block ; 
But your curat wit, wh.en it comes near ii^, 

Rivcs't utt' their oack. 
Think, wicked sinner, wha ye're skaithing, 
Its just the b/nr-i^o^d'n badije ;\n' claltiiiiig 
V* saunts ; tak that, ye lea'e them luithing 

'J'o ken I hem by, 

* J certain humourom dream of his ivas thei\niafdni^ <l 
fiiiist in the ^ovntrij^hidcf 



\ I4t> '> 

Frae ony unreeenerate lieathen 
Like you or I. 

l*ve sent you herr some rhyming war€V 
A' that I bargain'd for an' mair ; 
Sae, when ye hae an liour to spare 

I will expect, 
Yon aang^, ye'll scn*t wi* cannie care^ 

And no neglect. 

Tho* faith, sma' heart hae I to sing ! 
JHy muse clow scarcely spread her wing^- 
I've playM myscl a bonntc sp 'in'r* 

Am* danc'd my fill \ 
Vd better, gaen an* sair*d the kit^g, 

At nunhr's I ill 

*Twas ae night lately in my fun, 
I gaed a roving wi' the gun. 
An* brought a fiaitrick to the grun, 

A bonnie hen, 
And, as the twilight was begun, 

Thou gilt nane wad kerw 

The poor wee thing was little hurt j 
I strakit it a wee for sport, 
Ne'er thinkin they wad fash me for't ; 

But, deil-ma-care \ 
Somebody tells the fioacher-cnur$ 

The hale affair. 
Some auld us*d hands had taen a not^ 
rhrit sic a hen iiad got a shot ; 
I Wiis suspected for the plot ; 

I scorn'd to lie 4 
ho gat the whistle o' my gruat, 

An' pay't ihtfee. 

But, by my gun, o' guns the wal«j 
An' by my pouther an' my hail, 
An' by my hen, and by her tail, 
I vow an* swear ! 

*v^song he kid promited ihe author. 



{, 1" ) 

The ^ame shall pay o'er moor an* dal^ 
Fur this, niest year. 

As soon*s the clockin-timt is by, 
An* the wee pouts b.guu to ci y, 
L — d, I'se hae sporuii by an* by, 

I » r my j;owd guinea* 
Tho* I should herd the buckHkiri kye 
For't, in Virginia. 

Trowth, they had muckle for to blamed 
*Twas neither broken wing nor limb, 
But twa-three draps about the wame 

Seal ce thro* the feather's \ 
An' baith a yellow George to claim 

An* thole their blethers ! 

It pits me ay as mad's a hare ; 
So I can rhyme nor write nae mair ; 
"Bui /iennywo7't/i6 again is fair, 

When time's expedient J 
Meanwhile I am, respected Sir, 

Your most obedient. 



JOHN BARLEYCORN,* A BALLAD. 

L 

THERE "was three kings into the cast, 

Threer kings both great and lugh» 
An* they hae sMorn a solemn oath 

John Barleycorn should die. 

n 

They took a plough and plougli'd him dowM» 

Put clot' ftupon iiis head. 
And they hae sworn a solemn Oath 

John Barleycorn was dead, 
HL 

But the cheerful spring came kindly on. 
And show'rs bp^an to fall r 

• TAi9 ta fiartly comftoscd sn tkt fthH (fan (Ad tniig 
known by the 6i:iwe name. 



( 144 ) 

John Barleycorn got up again, 
And sole surprisM them all. 

IV. 

The sultry suns of summer camcy 
And he grew thick and strong, 
His head vveel arm'd wi* pointed speari, 
Thai no one should him wrong. 
V. 
The sober autumn enter'd mild, 
AVHun he j2:rew wan and pale ; 
His b'.'pdmg joints and drooping head 
Show'd he began to fail. 
VI. 
His colour sicken 'd more and moi"^; 

He faded into apje ; 
And then his enemies began 
To show their deadly rugc. 

VI F. 

They've taen a weapon, long and sharp(, 

And cut him by the knee ; 
Then ty*d him fast upon a cart, 

Like a rogue for forgeric. 

VIII. 

They laid him down upon his back. 

And cudjjjeird him full sore ; 
-They hung him up before the stormi 

And turn*d him o'er and o*er. 
IX. 
They filled up a darksome pit 

With water to the brim, 
•They heaved in John Barleycom? 

There let him sink or swim. 

X. 

They laid him out upon the floor, 

To work him farther woe, 
■And still., as si;.^ns of life appcar'e? 

They toss'd him to and fro. 



i M5 ) 

XL 

They wasted, o'er a scorching flame, 

The muiTow of his bonts ; 
But a miller iis*d him worst of all, 

For he crush'd him 'tween two slone«. 

XII. 
And they hae ta'en his very heart's bloody 

And drank it round and round, 
And still the more and more they dranfcj 

Their joy did more abound. 
XIH. 
.Tohn Barleycorn was a hero bold, 

Of noble enterprise, 
JFor if you do but taste his blood, 

'Twill make your courage rise. 

XIV. 

'Twill make a man forget his woes 

'Twill heip;liten all his joy : 
'Twill make the widow's heart to sing, 

Tlio* the tear were in her eye. 

XV. 

Then let us toast John Barleycorn, 

Each man a glass in iiand j 
And may his great posterity 

Ne'er fail in old Scotland! 

A FRAGMENT^l'uNE, « GILLICRANXIE." 

I. 

WIIFN Guilford good our pilot stood, 

An' did our ht-llim thraw, man, 
Ae night at tea began a plea, 

Within Anurica^ man; 
Then up they gat the maskin-pat, 

And in the sea did jaw, man ;* 
And tlid nae less, in full congress, 

Than quite refuse our law, man. 

o 



( U6 ) 

II. 

Then thro' the lakes, Montgomery tak«s, 

I wat he was nae slaw, man ; 
Down Loivri€*s burne he took a turn, 

And Carleton did ca* man : 
But yet, what-reck, he at Quebeck, 

Montgomery-hke did fa* man, 
Wi* sword in hand, before his band, 

Amang his en'mies a', man. 

III. 

Poor Tannvy Gage^ "within a cage, 

Was kept at Boston /ia*y man ; 
*Till H illie Hoive took o*er the knowe 

For Philaddfihia^ a* man : 
Wi' sword an* gun he thought a sin 

Gude christian blood to draw, man, 
But at ^^fw- York^ wi' knife an* fork. 

Sir-loin he hacked sma*, man. 

IV. 

Bur,qoy7ie gaed up, hke spur an' whip, 

*Till Fraser brave did fa', man ; 
Then lost his way, ae misty day 

In Saratoga shaw, man. 
CornitHiilis faught as lang's he dought, 

An' did the buckskins claw, man 
But Clinton's glaive frae rust to save 

He hung it to the wu', man. 
V. 
Then Montague^ an* Guilford too, 

Began to fear a fa*, man ; 
And Sackvillr doure, wha stood the stou^e, 

1 he German chief to thraw, man : 
For Paddy Bxirhe^ like ony Turk, 

Nae mercy had at a', man : 
An Charlie Fox threw by the box, 

An* lows'd his tinckler jaw, man. 

VI. 

Then Fockingham took up the game ^ 
Till death did on him ca', man ; 



( 147 ) 

When Shf'lburne meek held up his cheek, 

Conform to j^ospel law, man : 
Saint Stephen's boys^ wi' jarrint^ noise, 
They did his measures thraw, man, 
For North an' Fox united stocks, 
An* bore him to the \va', man. 
VII. 
Then chibs an' hearts were Clmrlic'a cartes^ 

He swept the stakes awa', man, 
^Till the diamond's ace, of Indian race 

Led him a si\\v faux fia^^ man : 
The Saxon lads, wi' loud placads, 
On Chatham*8 boy did ca', man ; 
An' Scotland drew her pipe an*,* blew, 
*Up, Willie, waur them a*, man ; 
VIII. 
iVj'aind the throne then Grenvillc*s gone, 

\ secret word or twa, man ; 
Wliile slee Diindas arous'd the clas? 

De-north the Roman wa, man : 
An' Chatham**! wraith in heavenly graith, 

(Inspired bardies saw, man) 
Wi* kindlinc^ eyes cry'd * IVilliey rise ! 
* Would i hae feur'd,* them a', man ? 
IX. 
But, word an' blow, Norths Fox^ and G^. 

GowfTd Willif. like a ba*, man, 
Till Hutkron raise, and, coost their claise 

Behind him in a raw* man ; 
An* Culcdon threw by the drone, 

And did her whittle draw man ; 
An* swore fu' rude, thro* dirt an' blood 
To make it gude in law, man. 



( t48 ) 

SONG. Tune, < CORN RIGS ARE BONNIE.* 

I 

IT was upon a Lammas ms^ht) 

When corn rijj^s are bonnie» 
Beneath the moon's unclouded lights 

I held awa to Annie : 
The time Oew by wi* tentless heed, 

* Till *f veen the late and early ; 
Wi' sin:/ j^ersuasion she at^reed^ 

To sec nie thro* the barley. 
II. 
The sky was blue, the wind Was still> 

The moon was shinin|]j clearly ! 
I set her down wi' Y\%\^x. gude will, 

Amang the ripjs o* barley : 
I kent her heart was a* my ain i 

I lov*d her most sincerely ; 
Ikiss'd her onre and owre ajjain 

Araang the rigs o* barley. 

III. 

I lookVi her in my fond embrace 5 

Her heart was beatiniij rarely : 
My blesslnp; on that happy place, 

Amani^ the rigs o' barley 1 
But by the moon and stars so bright, 

That shone tr.at hoiir so clearly I 
She ay shall bless that happy night, 

Aniang the rigs o' barley. 

IV. 

I hae been blythe wi' comrades dear ; 

I hae been merry drinkin ! 
I hae been joyfu' gath'rin gear ; 

I hae been happv thinkin : 
But a' the pleasures e'er I saw, 

Tho* three times doubl'd fairly, 
That liappy night was worth them a', 

Amang the rigs o' barley. 



( 149 > 

CHORUS. 

Corfi rigSy an* barley rigs, 

jin* corn rigs are bonniey 
ril ne'er forget that hafifiy nighfy 

Amang the rigs wi* Annie. 

SONG. COMPOSED IN AUGUST. 

Tunei * I had a Horsey I had nae mair* 



NOW westlin winds, and slaught*ring gun? 

Bring autumn's pleasant weather ; 
The moorcock springs, on whirring wing», 

Amang the blooming heather : 
Now waving grain, wide o'er the plain, 

Delights the weary farmer ; 
The moon shines bright, when I rove at nighl 

To muse upon my charmer. 

II. 

The partridge loves the fruitful fells ; 

The plover loves the mountains ; 
The woodcock haunts the lonely dells i 

The soaring hem the fountains : 
Thro* lofty groves the cushat roves 

The path of man to shun it ; 
The hazle hush o'erhangs the thrush, 

The spreading thorn the linnet. 

III. 

Thus ev*ry kind their pleasure find, 

The savage and the tender; 
Some social join, and leagues combine } 

Some solitary wander: 
A vaunt, away ! the cruel sway, 

Tyrannic man's dominion ; 
The sportsman's joy, the murd'ring crjJ- 

The flutt'ring, gory pinion; 
o 2 



( 150 > 

IV. 

But Pe^gy dear, the ev'ning clear, 

Thick flies the skimming swallow; 
The sky is blue, the fields in view, 

All fiiding-green and yellow : 
Come let us stray our gladsome way, 

And view the charms of nature ; 
The rustling corn, the fruited thorn, 

And ev'ry happy creature. 

V. 

We*ll gently walk, and sweetly talk, 

While the silent moon shines clearly; 
I'll grasp thy waist, and, fondly press*t, 

Swear how I love thee dearly : 
Not vernal show'rs to budding flow*rs» 

Not autumn to the farmer^ 
So dear can be as thou to me, 

My fair, my lovely charmer ! 

SONG.— 7w«6-, 'iWy A''anie 0/ 

I. 

BEHIND yon hills where Stinchar flow»^ 
'Miing moors an* mosses many, O, 

The wintry sun the day has clos'd, 
And rU awa to Naiiio, O. 

II. 

The westlin wind blaws loud an* shill; 

The night's baith mirk and rainy. O? 
But I'll get my plaid an* out I'll steal. 

An' owre the hills to Nanie, O, 

III. 

My Nanie's charming, sweet an* young 
Nae ai tfu' wiles to win ye, O ; 

May ill befa' the flattf ring tongue 
That wad beguile my Nanie^ O. 

IV, 

Her face is fair, her heart is true, 
As spotless as she's bounle, O;' 



C 151 ) 

The op'ning gowan, wet wi' dew 
Nae purer is than Nunie, O. 

V. 

A country lad is my degree, 

An' few there be that ken me, O ; 

But wliat care I how few they be, 
Vm welcome ay to Nanie, O. 

VI. 

My riches a's my penny-fee, 
An' I maun guide it cannie, O ^ 

But warl's gear ne'er troubles me, 
My thoughts are a', my Nanie, O* 

vir. 

Our auld Quid man delights to vieW, 
His sheep an* kye thrive bonnie, O; 

But I'm as blythe that hands his pleugh^ 
An' has nae care but Nanie, O. 

VIII. 

Come weel come woe, I care na by, 
I'll tak what heav'n will sen* me, O ; 

Nae ither care in life have I, 
But live, an' love my Nanie, O. 

GREEN GROW THE RASHES. 
^ Fragment, 

CHORUS. * 

Green grow the rashes, ; 

Green groiv the rashes^ O ; 
The sweetest hours that e*er I sflenff 

Are afient amang the lasses^ O, 

I. 

THERE'S nought but care on ev'ry han* 

In ev'ry hour that passes, O t 
What signifies the life o' man, 

Ao' 'twere na for the lasses, O. ^ 
Green grow % &C 



( 152 ) 

II. 

The Ararly race may riches chase, 
An' riches still may fly them, O ; 

An* tho* at last they catch them fast, 
Their hearts can ne'er enjoy them, 6. 
Green ^row, i^C; 

III. 
Gie me a cannie hour at e*en 

My arms about my dearie, O j 
An* wurly cares, an* warly men, 
May a* gae tapsalteerie, O ! 

Green grow^ is^c. 

IV. 

For you sae douse, ye sneer at this. 

Ye*re nouj^ht but senseless asses, O ; 
The wisest man the wurl* e*er saw, 

He dearly lov*d the lasses. O ! 

Green grotVy l!fc, 

V. 

Auld nature swears, the lovely dears 
Her noblest work she classes, O : 

Her prentice han* she try*d on man» 
An* tlien she made the lasses, O. 
Green grow, i:3^Ci 



SONG. Tunc, * Jockey's grbt bueeks/ 

I. 

AG AIN rejoicing nature sees 

Her robe assumes its vernal hues, 

Her leafy locks wave in the breeze 
All freshly steep*d in morning dew»; 



( 153 > 

CHORUS.* 

jfitd maten I»tiU on Mtmie\ doa(, 

Avd bear the scorn thaf*s in her e*e t 
For it*ajet^ jet blacky an* it*s like a haiokl 

An* it winna let a bodxj be I 

IT. 
In vain to me the cowslip's hlaw, 

In vain to nr^ the vi'lets spring j 
In vain to me, in ?':len or shaw. 
The mavis, and the lintwhito sincj. 

And maun I attUi ifc 

III. 

The mer^y plouj^hbor cheers his team, 

\Vi* joy the tcnlie seedsman stalks, 
But life' to me*s a vveiuy dream- 

Adreamofane that never wanks. 

And maun I a till) tsfc* 

IV. 

The wanton coot the water skim% 

Amanj^ the reeds ilie duckrm.^»s cry, 
The stately swan majestic swims, 
And every thing is bU-st bui I. 

And maun I atiily ilfc. 

V. 

The sheep-herd steeks his faulding- slapy 
And owre the moorlands wliistles shill, 

VVi' wild, unequal, wand'ring step 
I meet him on the dewy liill. 

And ivaun / alill^ Isfc. 

VI. 

And when the lark, 'tween lii^ht and dark, 

Biythe waukcns by the daisy's side,. 
And mountti and ^^ings on ilittering wings, 

A woe-wora ghaist I hameward glide, 
And maun I stilly ^c. 

* This chorus is part of a son^ composed by a ^etlth- 
nian in Edinburgh^ a fiarticular friend of the auihor'a. 
t Meiiie ia th^ cofnmon abbreviation of Mariamne.. 



i 15* y 

VII. 
Come winter, with thine anpjry howl, 

And rajjing bend the naked tree ; 
Thy gloom will soothe my cheerless soul, 

When nature all is sad like me i 



^nd maun I still on Mniie doat, 

jind hear thr scorn t/iat*s in her e*e ! 
For if*sjet^jet blacky an* it*s like a hanvk^ 

An* it winnm let a body be, 

SONG. Tuncy * Roslik Castle.* 

I. 

THE p^loomy night is gathering fast, 
Loud roars the wild inconstant blast, 
Yon murky cloud is foul with raioj 
I see it driving o*er the plain; 
The hunter now has left the moor. 
The scattered coveys meet secure. 
While here I wander, prest with car^ 
Along the lonely banks of Jyr. 

II. 
The autumn mourns her rip'ning corn 
By early winter's ravage torn ; 
Across her placid , azure sky. 
She sees the scoAvling tempest fly ; 
Chill runs my blood to hear it rave, 
I think upon ihe stormy wave, 
Where many a danger I must dare, 
Far from thebonnie banks of Ayr, 

* JVc cannot fir esume to alter any of the poem^ of our 
bard^ and more esfiecially thofic firinted under his onvn di- 
rt cfion ; yet it is to be regretted that this chorus^ wh:c^ 
is not of his own comfiosition^ should be attached to these 
fine stanzas, as it perfietually interrufits the train ofteth 
timi;nt •which they excite^ 



( H5 ) 

III. 
•Tis Tiot the surging billow's roar, 
*Tis not that fatal deadly shore ; 
Tho* death in cvVy shape appear, 
The wretched have no more to fear: 
But round my heart the ties are bound, 
That heart transpierc*d with many a wounds 
These bleed afresh, those ties I tear, 
To leave the bonnic banks of ^yr, 

IV. 

Farewell old Collars hills and dales, 
Her healthy moors and windinRj vales ; 
The scenes where wretched fancy rovei, 
Pursuing; past, unhappy loves ! 
Farewell, my friends I tare well my loes \ 
My peace with these, my love with those— 
The bursting tears my heart declare, 
Farewell the bonnie banks of Ayr, 

SONG. Tune^ * Gildbrot.* 
I. 

FROM thee, FAiza^ I must go, 

And fn m wy native shore ; 
The cruel fates between us throw 
A boundless ocean's roar: 
"But boundless oceans, roaring wid^ 

Between my love and me, 
They never, never can divide 
My heart and soul from thee J 

IT. 

Varewell, farewell, Eliza dear, 

The maid tliat I adore! 
A bodinj; voice is in mine ear, 

We part to meet no more ! 
But the last throb that leaves my heai^j 

While death stands victor by, 
^hat throb, FAizus is thy part, 

And thine t! at latest sigh! 



( 150 ) 
THE FAREWELL, TO THE BRETHREN 

of 8T. JAMI^S'S LODGE) TAHUOLTON. 

7V/Wr— .*^ GoODHJCHf AND ^OT BE. IFl' TOU U**** 

I. 

ADIEU ! a heart-wami, fond adieu ! 

Dear brothers of the tm/Aiic eye S 
Ye favoiuM, ye cntighten\i few. 

Companions of my social joy J 
Tho* I to forcigi) lands must hie. 

Pursuing Fortune's slidd'ry ba', 
"With melting: heart and bnmful cyc^ 

1*11 mind you still, tho' tar awa*. 

n. 

Oft have T met your social band, 

And spent the cheerful festive nigfhtj 
Oft,honor'd with supreme command, 

Presided o*er the aons of light : 
And by that hieroglyphic brig!it» 

Which none but craftsmfv c^'er saw I 
Strong memVy on my heart shall write 

Those happy scenes when far awa'. 

III. 

^ay freedom, harmony and love 

Unite you In the grand design^ 
Beneath th' omniscient eye above, 

The f^lorious architect divine ! 
That you may keep tb' unerring fine^ 
' Stili risitip: by the filunimeCu lawy 
Till order bright completely shine. 

Shall be my prayer when far awa*. 

IV. 

And pou, farewell ! whose merits claifD, 

Justly that highest badge to wear ! 
Henv'n bless your honorM noMe nume.i 

To Masonry and Scotia dear ! 



C 157 I 

A last request permit me here, 
When yeaily ye assemble a*, 

One roundy I ask it with a tear, 
To him, the Bard thafafar awa\ 



SONG. 

TutfE'm^^^ Pre/tarey my dear brethren^ to the Tavern 
let'ajlyr 

I. 

NO churchman am I for to rail and to write, 
No statesman nor soldier to plot or to fij^ht, 
No sly man of business contriving a snare, 
For a big belly'd bottle's the whole of my carc. 

II. 
The peer I don't envy, I give him his bow; 
I scorn not the peasant, tho* ever so low ; 
But a club of goo'l fellows, like those that are here 
And a bottle like this are my glory and care. 

III. 
Here passes the squire on nis brother— —his horse ; 
There* centum per centum, the cit, with his purse; 
But see you the crown how it waves in the air, 
There a big bellyM bottle still eases my care. 

IV. 
The wife of my bosom, alas ! she did die ; 
For sweet consolation to church I did fly ; 
I found that o d Solomon proved it fair, 
That a big belly'd bottle's a cure for all care 

V. 

I once was persuaded a venture to make ; 
A letter informM me that all was to wreck ; 
But the p«irsy old landlord just waddled up staiw. 
With a glorious bottle that ended my cafes:* 
p 



( 158 ) 

VI. 

^'Life's cares they ai'e comforts**— a maxim laid down 
By tlie bard, what d'ye call him, that wore 4he black 

gown ; 
And faith I aj^ree with th* old prig to a hair-; 
For a big belly*d bottle's a heaven of care. 

A Stanza added in a Mason Lodge^ 

Then fill up a bumper and make it overflow ; 
And honors masonic prepare for to throw ; 
May every true brother of the compass and square 
Have a big belly'd bottle when harrass'd with care. 

WRITTEN IN FRI\RS.CARSE HERMITAGE. 
ON NITH-SIDE. 

THOU whom chance may hither lead. 
Be thou clad in russet weed, 
Be thou deckt hi silken stole, 
Crave these counsels on thy soul. 

Life is but a day at most, 
Sprung from night, in darkness lost j 
Hoi>e not sunshine ev'ry hour, 
Fear not clouds will always lour. 
As youth and love with sprightly dance? 
Beneath thy morning star advance, 
Pleasure with her Siren air 
May delude her thoughtless pair ; 
Let prudence bless enjoyment's cup, 
Then raptur'd sip, and sip it up. 

As thy day grows warm and high, 
Life's meridian flaming nigh, 
Dost thou spurn the humble vale I 
Life's proud summit wouldst thotl scale I 
Check thy climbing step, elate, 
Evils lurk in high "estate : 

• Young*s Night Thmghts 



( 159 ) 

Dangers, eagle-pinionM, boM> 

Sour around each clitfy hold, 

Whih^ cheerful p^-ace, with linnet song, 

Chants the lowly dells among;. 

As the shades of ev'nini^ closet 
Bcck'nin^ thee to lonj^ repose ; 
As life itself becomes disease, 
Seek the chimney-nook of ease. 
There nimi'vate with sober thouj^ht, 
On all thou'st seen, and heard, and wrought;. 
And teach tlie sportive younkers round, 
Liiws of experience, sage and sound. 
Say, man's true, i^enuine estimate, 
The grand criterion of his fate, 
Is noi, art thou high or low ? 
Did thy fortune ebb or flow ? 
Did many talents gild thy span ? 
Or frugal nature grudge thee one f 
Tell them, and press it on their mind, 
As thou thyself must shortly find, 
The smile or frown of awful Heav'n, 
To virtue or to vice is giv'n. 
Say to be just, and kind, and wise, 
There solid self-enjoyment lies j 
That foolish, selfish, fliithless ways, 
Lead to be wretched, vile, and base. 

Thus resign'd and quiet, creep 
To the bed of lasting sleep ; 
Steep, whence thou shalt ne'er awake, 
Night, where dawn sliall never breaks 
'Till future life, future no more, 1 

To light and joy the good restore, J 

To light and joy unknown before. J 

Stranger, go I Heav*n be thy guidf I' 
Quoth the beadsman of Nith-side. 



( leo ) 

©DE, SACRED TO THE MEMORY 

Of Mrs. Of 

DWELLER in yon dungeon dark, 
Hangman of creation, mark! 
Who in widow weeds appears, 
Laden with unhonour*d years, 
Noosing witii care a bursting purse^ 
Baited with many a deadly curse ? 

STROPHE. 

^ View the withered beldam's face — 

Can thy keen inspection trace 

Aught of humanity's sweet melting grace \ 

Note that eye, 'tis rheum o*erftows, 

Pity's flood there never rose. 

See those hands, ne'er stretch'd to save, 

Hands that took — ^but never gave. 

Keeper of mammon's iron chest, 

Lo, there she goes unpily'd and unblest 

She goes, but not to realms of everlasting rest, 

ANTISTIIOPHE. 

Plunderer of armies, lift thine eyes, 
(A while forbear, ye tort'ring fiends,) 
Seest thou whose step, unwilling hither bends •' 
No fdllcn angel, hurl'd from upper skies! 
*Tis thy trusty quondam mate^ 
Doom'd to share thy fiery fate,. 
She, tardy, hellward plies. 

EPODE. 

And are they of no more avail, 
Ten thousand glitt'ring pounds a-year r 
In other worlds can Mammon fail, 
Omnipotent as he is here ? 
O bitter mock'ry of the fioinfioua bier. 
While down the wretched vital part is driv*n! 
The cave-lodg'd beggar, with a conscience clear 
Expires in rags, unknown, and goes to Heav'n. 



} 



C 161 ) 

ELEGY OJSrCAPf. MATTHE W IJEKDERSOJS{, 

A gentleman who held the patent for his honourSs 
immediately from Almighty God! 

But nov) his radiant course is run-, 
For Mattheiv^a course was bright^ 

His soul was like the glorious sun, 
A matchless Hecru^nlij Light ! 

O DEATH ! thou tyrant fell and bloody ' 
The meikle devil wi' a woodie 
Haurl thee hame to his black smiddic. 

0*er hurchcon hides, 
And like stock-fish comeo*er his studdic 

Wi' thy auld sides ! 

He's gane, he*s gane \ he's frae us torn ! 
The ae best fellow e*er was born ! 
Thee, Matthew, Nature's sel shall mourn 

By wood and wild, 
Wharc, happly, pity strays forlorn, 
Frae man exil'd. 

Ye hills, near neebors o' the stams 
That proudly cock your crescing cairns I 
Ye cliffs, the haunts of sailing yearns, 

Where echo slumbers ! 
Come join, ye Nature's sturdiest bairns, 
My wailing numbers I 

Mourn, ilka grove the cushat kens ! 
Ye hazly shaws and briery dens! 
Yc burnies, wimplin down your glens, 

Wi* toddlin din, 
Or foaming, Strang, wi* hasty stens, 
Frae Hn to lin. 
Mourn little harebells o'er the lee; 
Ye stately foxpjloves fair to see ; 
Ye woodbines hanging bonnilie, 

In scented bow'rs j 
Ye roses on your thorny tree, 

The first o' flow*r§* 
p 3 



( 162 ) 

At dawn, "when ev'ry grassy blade 
Droops with a diamond at his head, 
At cv'n when beans their fragrance shed^ 

I* th* rustling gale, 
Ye maukins whidden thro' the glade, 
Come join my wail. 

jMoiirn ye wee songsters o* the wood ; 
Ye grouss that crap the heather bud ; 
Ye curlews calling thro* a clud : 

Ye whist'Iing ploverj 
And mourn, ye whirring paitrick brood ; 

He*s gane forever ! 

Mourn, sooty coots and speckled teals ; 
Ye fisher herons, M^atcliing eels j 
Ye duck and drake, wi' airy wheels 

Circling the lakes : 
Ye bitterns, 'till the quagmire reelsj 

Rair for his sake. 

Mourn, clam'ring craiks at close o' day.^ 
'Mang field o* flow'ring clover gay ;. 
And when ye wing your annual way, 

Frae our cauld shore, 
Tell thae fur warlds, wha lies in clay, 
Wham we deplore. 

Ye houlets, frae your ivy bow*r, 
In some auld tree, or eldritch tow'r, 
What time the moon, wi' silent glowr, 

Sets up her horn, 
Wail thro' the dreary midnight liour 

'Till waukrife morn ! 

O, rivers, forests, hills and plains ! 
Oft have ye heard my canty strains; 
But now, what else for me remains 

But tales of woe ? 
And frae my e'en the drapping rains 

Maun ever flow. 

Mourn, spring, thou darling of the year! 
Wk cowslip cup shall kep a tear ; 



( 163 ) 

Thou, siiiimer, while each corny spejH* 
Shoots up its head, 

Thy gay, green, flow'ry tresses sliear, 
For him that's dead ! 

I'hou, autumn, w\* thy yellow hair, 
In grief thy sallow mantle tear ! 
Thou, winter, hurling thro' the air 
The roaring blast. 
Wide o'er the naked world declare 

The worth we*ve lost i 

Mourn him thou sun, great source of light I 
Mourn, empress of the silent night ! 
And you, ye twinkling starnies bright, 

My Matthew mourn ! 
For through your orbs he's taen his flight, 

Ne'er to return. 

O, Henderson! the man! the brother ! 
And art thou gone, and gone for ever ! 
And hast thou crost that unknown river, 

Life's dreary bound! 
Like thee, where shall I find another, 

The world around! 

Go to your sculptur'd tombs, ye Grea]^, 
In a' the tinsel trash o* state ! 
But by thy honest turf I'll wait, 

Thou man of worth ! 
And weep the ae best fellow's fate 

E'er lay in earth. 

THE EPITAPH. 

STOP passenger ! my story's brief, 
And truth I shall relate, man ; 

I tell nae common tale o' grief, 
For Matthew was a great man. 

If thou uncommon merit hast, 

Yet spurn'd at fortune's door, man ; 

A look of pity hither cast, 
For Mtttthew was a poor man 



( 164 ) 

iF thou a noble sodger art, 

That passest by this grave, man, 
There moulders here a gallant heart j 

For Matthew was a brave man. 

If thou on men, their works and ways, 
Canst throw uncommon light, man ; 

Here lies wha wecl had won thy praise 
For Matthew was a bright man. 

If thou at friendship's sacred ca* 

Wad life itself resign, man ; 
Thy sympathetic tear maun fa% 

For Matthew was a kind man 1 

If thou art staunch without a stain, 

Like the unchanging blue, man f 
This was a kinsman o* thy ain, 

For Matthew was a true man. 

If thou hast wit, and fun and fire, 
And ne'er c:ude wine did fear, man ; 

This was thy billie, dam, and sire, 
For Matthew was a queer man. 

If ony whiggish whingin sot, 

To blame poor Matthew dare, man ^ 

May dool and sorrow be his lot, 
For Matthew was a rare man. 

LAMENT OF MARY QUEEN OF SCOTS, 

On the a/iproach qf Sjiring, 

NOW Nature hangs her mantle green 

On every blooming tree, 
And spreads her sheets o' daisie's white 

Out o'er the grassy lea : 
Now Phoebus cheers the chrystal streams, 

And glads the azure skies : 
But nought can glad the weary wight 

That fast in durance lies. 
Now lav'rocks wake the merry morn, 

Aloft in clewy wing ; 



( 16* ) 

The merle in his Doontide bow'r* 

Makes woodland echoes rinj^ ; 
The ma^'is mild wi* many a not^ 

Sings drowsy day to rest : 
In love and freedom they rejoice, 

Wi* care nor thrall opprest. 
Now blooms the lilly by the bank, 

The primrose down tlie brae ; 
The hawthorn's biidtlinjij in the glen, 

And milk-white is the slae : 
T))e meanest hind in fair Scotland 

May rove thei'' sweets amang ; 
But I, the Quveii ot a* Scotland, 

Maun lie in prir^on Strang. 
I was the Qieen o' bonnie Franct;, 

Where happy I hae been ; 
Fu' lightly rase I in the morn, 

As biythe lay down at e'en : 
And I'm the sov'reign of Scotlanc^, 

And mony a traitor there ; 
Yet here I lie In foreign bands, 

And never ending care. 
But as for thee, thou false woman 

My sister and my fae, 
Grim vengeance yet shall whet a sword 

Tliat thro' thy soul shall gae : 
The weeping blood in woman's breast 

Was never known to thee ; 
Nor balm that draps on wounds of woe 

Fr:\e woman's pitying e'e. 
My son 1 my yon ! may kinde*- staii5 

Upon thy fortune shine : 
And may those pleasures gild thy rcigifr 

Tiiat ne'er wad blink on mine ! 
God keep thee 1 Vae thy mother's faes. 

Or turn their hearts to thee ; 
And where thou meet'st thy mother's friend 

Remember \vm for me 1 



C 166 ) 

O ! soon, to m^, m-w summer-'suns 

Nue mair Hi^ht up the morn ! 
Nae mair, to me the autumn winds 

Wave o*er the yellow com ! 
And 'n the narrow house o' death 

Let winter round me rave : 
And the next flow'rs, that deck the spring*, 

Bloom on my peaceful grave. 

TO ROBERT GRAHAM, Esq. OF FINTRA. 

LATE cripprd of an arm, and now a leg, 
About to beg a /ia?? for leave to be^ ; 
Dull listless, t'-'us'd, dejected and deprest, 
Nature is adverse to a cr)pp!e*s rest ; 
Will t^enerous Graham list to his poets wail I 
(It soothes poor misery barkening to her tale,) 
And hear him curse the Ii2;ht he first survey 'd 
And doubly curse the luckless rhymm?^ trade. 

Thou, Nature, partial nature, I arraign ; 
Of thy caprice maternal I complain. 
The lion and the bull thy care have found, 
One shakes the forests, and one spurns the ground * 
Thou giv'st the ass his hide, the snail his shell, 
Th' envenom'd wasp, victorious guards his cell.-^ 
Thy minions, kings defend, controul, devour, 
In ail th' omnipotence of rule and pow'r — 
Foxes and statesmen, subtile wiles ensure : 
Tlie cit and polecat stink, and are secure. 
Toads witli their poison, doctors with their drug, 
The priest and hedgehog in their robes, are snug. 
Ev'n, silly woman has her warlike arts. 
Her tongue and eyes, her dreaded spear and dartg'; 

But Oh ! thou bitter step-mother and hard, 
To thy poor, fenceless, naked child — the Bard 1 
A thing unteachable in the world's skill. 
And half an ideot too, more helpless still. 
No hetls to bear him from the op'nmg dun f^ 
No claws to dig, his hated sight to shun i 



C 167 ) 

Ko horns, but those by luckless Hymen womj 
And those, alasl not AmulLhea*s horn : 
No nerves olfact'ry, Manflmon's trusty cur, 
Clad in rich dullness, comfortable fur. 
In naked feeling;, and in aching pride, 
He bears th* unbroken blast from ev'ry side r 
Vampyre booksellers drain him to the heart? 
And scorpion critics cureless venom dart. 

Critics— Appall'd I venture on the name, 
Those cut-throat bandits in the paths of fame: 
Blo'Kly dissectors, worse than ten Monroes ; 
He hacks to teach, they mangle to expose. 

His heart by causeless wanton malice wrung, 
By blockhead's daring into madness stung ; 
His well-won bays than life itself more dear, 
By miscreants torn, who ne*er one sprig must wear « 
Foil'd, bleeding, tortui*d, in th* unequal strife, 
Tlie hapless poet flounders on thro* life. 
'Till fled each hope that once his boSom fir*d, 
And fled each muse that glorious once inspired, 
1.0W sunk in squalid unprotected age, 
Dead, even resentment, for his injur*d page, 
He heeds or feels no more the ruthless critic's rage ! 

So, by some hedge, the gen'rous steed deceas'd, 
For half'-starv*d snarling curs a dainty feast ; 
By toil and famine worn to skin and bone, 
Lies senseless of each tugging bitch*s son. 

O dullness ! portion of the truly blest ! 
Calm sheltered haven of eternal rest I 
Thy sons ne'er madden in the fierce extremes 
Of fortune's polar fiost, or torrid beams. 
If mantling high slie fills the golden cup. 
With sober selfish ease they sip it up : 
Conscious the botmteous meed they well deserve^ 
They only wonder * some folkw* do not starve. 
The grave sage hern thus easy picks his frog, 
And thinks tlie mallard a sad worthless dog. 
When disappointment snaps the clue of hope 
And thro* disastrous night they darkling grope. 



] 



( V68 ) 

With deaf indurance sluggishly they bear, 
And just conclude that '' ibols are fortune's care.** 
So, heavy, passive to the tempest's shocks, 
Strong on ihe sign-post stands the stupid ox. 

Not so the idle muses' mad-cap train, 
Not such the working of their moon-struck brain j 
In equanimity they never dwell, 
By turns in soaring heav'n, or vaulted hell. 

I dread the«» fate, relentleJ's and severe, 
With all a poet's, husband's, father's fear I 
Already one strong hold of hope is lost, 
Glencaim, the truly noble, lies in dust ; 
(Fled, like the sun eclips'd as noon appears* 
And left us darkling in a world of tears ;) 
O ! hear my ardent, grateful, selfish pray'r ! 
Fintra, my other stay, long bless and spare I 
Thio* a long life his hopes and wishes crown ; 
And bright in cloudless skies his sun go down ! 
May bliss domestic smooth his private path 
Give energy to life ; and soothe his latest breath, 
With many a filial tear circling tiie bed of death ! 

LAMENT FOR 

JAMES, EARL OF GLENCAIRN. 

i'HE wind blew hollow frae the hills, 

By fiis the sun's departing beam 
Look'd on the fading yellow woods 

That wav'd o'er Lugar's winding stream : 
Beneath a craigy steep, a bard 

Laden with years and meikle pain. 
In loud lament bewail'd his lord, 

Whom death had all untimely ta'ea 

He lean'd upon an ancient oak, 

Whose trunk was mould'ring down with years j 
His locks were bleached wiiite with time, 

His hoary cheek was wet wi' tears ; 
.^nd as he touch'd his trembling harp, 

And as he tun'd his doleful sang< 



1 



( 169 ) 

The winds lamenting thro' their caves, 
To echo bore the notes alang^. 

^ Ye scatterM birds that faintly sing, 

" The reliques of the vernal quire ! 
" Ye woods that shed on a* the winds 
. " The honors of the aged year I 
" A few short months, and glad and gay, 

" Again ye'll charm the ear and e'e ; 
**' But nocht in all revolving time 
** Can gladness bring again to me. 

" I am a bending aged tree, 

" That lang has stood the wind and raiit ; 
•* But now has come a cruel blast, 

" And mjr last hald of earth is ganc: 
** Nae leaf o* mine shall greet the springpi 

" Nae simmer sun exalt my bloom i 
^* But I maun lie before the storm, 

" And ithers plant them in my room, 

** I've seen sae mony cbangefu* years, 

" On earth I am a stranger grown I 
** I wander in the ways of men, 

" Alike unknowing and unknown e 
" Unheard, unpitied, unrcliev'd, 

** I bear alane my lade o* care, 
** For silent, low, on beds of dust, 

*' Lie a* that would my sorrows share* 

** And last, (the sum of a* my griefs !) 

" My noble master lies in clay ; 
" The flow'r amang our barons bold, 

" His country's pride, his country's »tay ; 
•* In weary being now I pine, 

** For a* the life of life is dead, 
** And hope has left my aged ken, 

" On forward wing for ever fled. 

" Awake thy last sad voice my harp I 
" The voice of woe and wild despair ! 

" Awake, resound thy latest lay, 
" Then sleep in silence cvermair i 



( iro ) 

•* And Ihou my last, best, only friend, 

** Thut fillest an iintiintily tomb, 
•* Accept this tribute from the burd 

** Thou brought from fortune's mirkish gloom. 

•* In poverty's low barren vale, 

*^ Thick mists, obscure, involved me round ; 
" Though oft 1 turn'd the wistful eye, 

** Nae ray of fame was to be found : 
" Thou found'st me, like the morning sun 

" That melts the fogs in limpid air, 
" The friendly bard and rustic song, 

*' Became alike thy fostering care. 

" O I why has worth so short a date ? 

'' While villains ripen grey with time ? 
^ Must thou, the noble, gen'rous, great, 

" Fall in bold manhood's hardy prime ! 
•* Why did I live to see that day ? 

•* A day to me so full of woe I 
" O had I met the mortal shaft 

" Which laid my benefactor low ! 

" The bridegroom may forget the bride, 

" Was made his wedded wife yestreen ; 
" The monarch may forget the crown 

*' That on his head an hour has been ; 
" The mother may forget Lhe child 

" That smiles sae sweetly on her knee i 
'* But ril remember thee, Glencairn, 

" And a* that thou hast done for me !*' 

LINES 

Sent to Sir John tVhitefordy of Whiteford, ^art. with 

the foregoing fioem. 

THOU, who thy honor as thy God rever'st, 
Who, save thy mind^s fefiroach, nought earthly fear'st. 
To thee this votive offering I impart, 
?'he tearful tribute of a broken heart. 



( 171 ) 

The friend thoy valuecPst, I, the fiatron^ lov*d j 

His worth, his honor, all the world approved. 

We*ll mourn 'till we too go as he has gone, 

And tread the dreary path to that dark world unknown- 

TAM O' SHANTER. A TALE. 

Of BrownyU and of Bo^lis full ia this buke, 

GAWIN D0V6LA8» 

WHEN chapman billies leave the street^ 

And drouthy neebors, neebors meet, 

As market-days are wearing late, 

An' folk begin to tak the gate ; 

While we sit bousing attlie nappy, 

An* gettin fou and unco happy, 

We think na on the lang Scots miles, 

The mosses, waters, slaps, and styles, 

That lie between us and our hame, 

Whare sits our sulky sullen dame. 

Gathering her brows like gathering storm, 

Nursing her wrath to keep it warm. 
This truth fand honest Tarn o* Shunter ^ 

As he frae Ayr ae night did canter, 

(Auld Ayr wham ne'er a town surpasses, 

For honest men and bonnie lasses.) 
O 7am / hadst thou but been sae wise. 

As ta'en thy ain wife Katc*s advice I 

She tauld thee weel thou was a skellum, 

A blethering, blustering, drunken blellum; 

That frae November 'till October, 

Ae market day thou was nae sober ; 

That ilka melder, wi* the miller, 

Thou sat as lang as thou had siller ; 

That ev'ry naig was ca'd a shoe on. 

The smith and thee gat roarin fou on j 

That at the L — d's house, ev'n on Sunday, 

Thou drank wi' Kirton Jean 'till Monday. 

She prophesy'd that late or soon, 

Thou would be found deep drown'd in Z?oo« ,- 



t ir^ ) 

Or catch*d wi* warlocks in the mirk) 
By Mlo'HHiy*\> auld haunted kirk. 

All, gentle dames ! it gars me greets 
To tliink how mony counsels sweet, 
How mony len^thcn'd sage advices, 
The husband fr.ic the wife despises ! 

But to our talc : Ae market night, 
Tarn had got planted unco right ; 
Fast by an ingle blcezing finely, 
Wi' reaming swats that drank divinely ; 
And at his elbow Souter Johnny^ 
His ancient, trusty, drouthy crony ; 
Tarn loe*d him like a vera brither ; 
Thev had been fou for weeks thegithei»> 
The night drave on wi' sangs and clatter : 
And ay the ale was growing better : 
The landlady and 7bw grew gracious, 
Wi' favours, secret, sweet, and precious^ 
The Souter tauld his queerest stories j 
1 he landlord's laugh was ready chorus : 
I'he storm without might rair and rustic, 
Turn did na mind the storm a whistle. 

Care, mad to see a man sae happy. 
E'en drown'd hiiusel amang the nappy, 
As btes flv-e hame wi' lades o* treasure, 
TiR" minutes wing their way wi' pleasures 
Kings may be blest, but Tarn was glorious, 
O'er all the ills o* life victorious ! 

But pleasures are like poppies spread, 
You seize the flow'r, its bloom is shed : 
Or like the snaw-fall» in the river, 
A moment white, then melts ibrever ; 
Or like the borealis race, 
That flit ere you can point their place \ 
Or hke the rainbow's lovely form 
Evanishing amid the storm — . 
Nae man can tether time or tide ; 
The hour approaches Tarn maun ride , 



< 1T3 ) 

That hour, o* nipjht's black arch the key-stane^ 
That dreary hour he mounts his beast m ; 
Ami sic a nipjht he taks tlie road in, 
As ne'er poor sinner was abroad in. 

The wind blew as 'twad blawn its last ; 
The rattlinj^ show*rs rose on the l)Iust ; 
Thu speedy j^leams the darkness swallowVl : 
I.oud, di'cp and lan^ the thunder bellow'd : 
T'lnt nijTfht i\ child mipjht iindcrstand, 
The deil had business on his hand. 

Weel mountixl on his i^rcy mare, Meg, 
A bettor never liOcd h.'t^, 
Tarn skelpit on thro' d'ib and mire, 
DespisinjTf wind, and rain, and fire ; 
Whiles holdinp; flist his p;ude blue bonnet ; 
VViiiles croonincj o'er some auld Scots sonnet ; 
Whiles j^low'rinj}; round wi' prudent cares, 
Lest l)op;p,lcs catch him unawares ; 
Kirk-ytlloivay was drawlnt^ ni^h, 
Whare pjaists and houlets niijhtly cry.— . 

By this time he was cross the ford, 
Whare in the snaw the chapman smoor'd ;• 
And past the birks and meikle stane, 
Whare drunken Charlie brak*s neck-bane j 
And thro* the whins, and hiy the cairn, 
Whare hunters fand the murder'd bairn ; 
And near the thorn, aboon the well, 
Whare Mungo*^ mither hanf^'d hersel.— 
Before him Doon pours all his floods ; 
The doublinp^ storm roars thro* the woods; 
The lightnings flash from pole to pole ; 
Near and mo}-e near the thunders roll : 
When, glimmering thro' the groaning tieef. 
Kivk'Mloivaxj seem'd in a bleeze ; 
Thro* ilka bore the beams were glancing j 
And loud resounding mirth and dancing.-* 

Inspiring bold John Barleycorn I 
What dangers thou canst make us acor!!f* 
q 2 



( 174 ) 

Wi* tjppcnny We fear nae evil ; 
Wi* usquabae we'll face the devil ! — 
The swats sae reamed in Tammie^s noddle, 
Fair play, he car'd na deils a boddle. 
But Ma^^^ie stood right sair astonish'd, 
'Till by the heel and hand admonish'd. 
She ventur'd forward on the light ; 
And, wow ! Tani saw an unco sight 1 
Warlocks and witches in a dance; 
Nae cotillion brent new frae France^ 
But hornpipes, jigs, strathspeys, and reels^ 
Pat life and mettle in their heels, 
A winnock bunker in the east, 
ThercSat ofld Nick, in shape o' beast; 
A towzie tyke, black, grim, and large, 
To gic them music was his charge ; 
He screw*d the pipes and gart them skirl, 
'Till roof and rafters a' did did.— 
Coffins stood round, like open presses, 
That shaw'd the dead in their last dresses; 
And by some devilish cantrip slight, 
Each in its cauld hand held a light.— 
By which heroic Tarn was able 
To note upon the haly table, 
A murderer's banes in gibbet aims ; 
Twa span-lang, wee, unchristen'd bairns § 
A thief, new-cutted frae a rape, 
Wi' his last gasp his gab did gape ; 
Five tomtthawks, wi* blude red-rusted; 
Five scymitars, w*i murder crusted ; 
A garter, which a babe had strangled ; 
A knife, a father's throat had mangled, 
Whom his ain son o* life bereft. 
The grey hairs yet stack to the heft ; 
Wi' maw o* horrible and awfu*, 
Which ev'n to name wad be unlawfu*. 

As Tammie glowr'd, amaz'd, and curious. 
The mirth and fun grew fast and furious i 
The piper loud and louder blew ; 
Thxi Saucers quick and quicker ftew j 



( 173 ) 

They recl'd, they set, they cross'd, they clcitkit, 
'Till ilka c^rlin swat and rcckit, 
And coost her duddies to the wui'k 
And linkit at it in her sark I 

Now Tani^ O Tarn ! had thae been qfteafts 
A' plump and strappinj^, in their teens ; 
Their sarks, instead o* creeshie fl^nnen, 
Been snaw-vvliite seventeen hunder linen • 
Thir breeks o' mine, my only pair, 
That ance were plush, o* gude blue hair, 
I wad hae gi'en them aff my hurdles, 
For ae blink o* the bonnie burdies I 

But wither'd beldams, auld and droll, 
Rigwoodie haprs wad spaen a foal, 
Lowpingan* flingin;^ on a cummock, 
I wonder didna turn thy stomach. 

But 7am kend what was what fu* brawlio, 
There was ae winsome wench and waulie, 
That night enlisted in the core, 
(Lang after ken'd on Ozrr/cA- shore; 
For mony a beast to dead she shot, 
And perishM mony a bonnie boat, 
And shook baith raoikle corn and bea», 
And kcipt the country side in fear,) 
Her cutty sark, o* Paisly ham, 
That while a lassie she had worn, 
In longitude tho* unco* scanty. 
It was her best and she was vauntie — - 
Ah I little kend thy reverend grannie. 
That sark she coft for her wee Minnie^ 
Wi'twapund Scots, (*twas a* her riches,) 
Wad ever grac'd a dance of witclies! 

But here my muse her wing maim cour^ 
Sic flights are far beyond her pow'tHi, 
To sing how A'annie lap and flang, 
(A souple jade she was and stran^,) 
And how Tarn stood, like ane bf.^witch'dj^ 
And thought his very e'en cnrich'd* 



( ir6 ) 

Even Satan ^lowr'il, and fidj>M fu' fain, 
And hotch'd and blew wi* niiglit and main: 
•Till first ae capt'r, syne anilhtr, 
7hm tint his reason a' lliej^ilhcr, 
And roars out, " wed donv C'utty-aark I** 
And m an instant a' avus dark ! 
And scarcely had he Maggie rallied, 
When out the hellish legion sallied. 

As ])ecs l)izo\it w»' ancjry tyke, 
Wlicn phnuk-nniv lu«rds assiil their bykc, 
As open |>nssie's mortal foes, 
When, pop! she stavis before their nose; 
As cA ;;;tr runs the markcl-crowd, 
When ** Catch tlu* thiet'l" resounds aloud ; 
So ^uiggie runs, the wiIcIk^s follow, 
Wr mony an eldritch screech and hollow. 

Ah TamI ah Turn ! thou'il get thy fairia! 
In hrll they'll roast thee like a hen in ! 
In vain thy Kafr aw\it» thy cominl 
Kate soon will be a wofu' wo man I 
Now, do thy speedy utmost, M'^^ 
And win the key-stane* o* the briij; : 
There at them thou thy tail may toss, 
A runninp; stream they dare na cross. 
But ere the key-stane she could make, 
The fient a tail she had to shake 1 
For j\'annif^ far before the rest. 
Hard upon noble Maggie prest. 
And flew at Tarn wi* furiouy ettle ; 
But little wist she Maggie's mettle— 
Ae spring brought aft* her master halc^ 
But left behind her ain gray tail : 

• It is a well known /act ^ that witc/iest or antj evil s/ir- 
ritx have no fiower to follow a floor wight any Jar t her 
than the middle cff the next running &trcam<--'Ii may he 
firofier likewise to mention tg the benighted traveller j that 
when he falls in with bogles, whatever danger jnay be in 
hia going forward^ there i» much more hazard in turning 
bachi 



( 177 ) 

The carlin clauj^ht her by the rump* 
Aiul Itt't poor Maggie scarce a stump. 

Now^ wlia this talc o* truth shall read, 
Ilk man u\u\ mother's son take heed : 
Whene'er to drink you arc inclin'd. 
Or culty-sarks niivin yoiu' mind, 
Think, ye may buy the joys o'er dear, 
Remember lam o* S/iatiicr'n mare. 

ON SEIZING A WOUNDED 11 ARl?: 

Lim/i by inc nvhich afdlow hadjunt shot at, 

INHUMAN man ! curse on thy barb'rous art, 
And blasted l)e thy murtler-aiminp; eye; 
May never pity soothe thee with n sigh, 
Nor ever pleasure glad thy cruel heart! 
Go live, poor wanderer of the Arood and field, 
Tiie bitter little that of life remains : 
No more the thickeninj^ brakes and verdant plaitVi 
To thee shall home, or food, or pastime yield. 

Seek, mangled wretch, some place of wonted restj 
No more of rest, but now tiiy dying bed ! 
The sheltering ruslies wiiistiing o'er thy head, 

Tlie cold earth with thy bloody bosom prest 

Oft as by winding Nith I musing wait 
The sober eve, or liail the clieerful dawn, 
I'll miss thee sporting oe'r ti»e dewy lawn, 

And curse the r\ifFian*s aim, and mourn thy haplcijb 
fate. 

ADDUESS TO THE SHADE OF THOMPSON, 

On Crowning hUt Bunt at EdnaiUy Roxburi^hbhirt'^ ivitft 
bay ft. 

WHH^E virgin spring, by Eden's flood, 

Unfolds her tender mantle green. 
Or pranks tiie sod in frolic mood, 

O: tunes Eolian strain^ between. 



( 17S ) 

While Slimmer with a matron grace 
Retreats to Dryburgh's cooling shade 

Yet oft, delighted, stops to trace 
The progress of the spiky bhd^. 

While autumn, benefactor kind. 

By rweed erects his asred head, 
And sees, with self-approving mind, 

Each creature on his bounty fed. 

While maniac winter rages o'er 

The hills whence classic Yarrow flows^ 

Rousing the turbid torrent's roar, 
Or sweeping, wild, a waste of snows. 

So long, sweet poetof the year, 

Shall bloom that wreath thou well hast won j 
While Scotia, with exulting tear, 

Proclaims that Thompson was her son. 

EPITAPHS, 
0?i A Celebrated Ruling Elder., 

IIEUI^ sowter **** in death does sleep .•- 

Tol>ll, if he*s gane thither, 
Satan, gie him thy gear to keep, 

He'll baud it weel thegither. 

ON A NOISY POLEMIC. 

BFLOW thir st^mes lie Jamie's banes ; 

O death, it's my opinion, 
rhou ne'er took such a blethVin b.-t4fc 

Into thy dai'k dominion ! 



( 179 ) 

ON WEE JOHNNY. 

Hicjacct wee Johnnie. 

WHOE'ER thou art, O reader know, 

'V\kA (icatii has murdcrM Johnnie i 
An* hert his bodv lies fij' Uow 

For 8Qul he ne'er had o'.iy. 

FOR THE AUTHOR'S FATHER, 

O YE whose check the tear of pity stains, 

Draw near witli pious reverence and attend I 
Here lie the loviug husband's dear remains, 

The tender father, and the gen'rous friend. 
The pitying heart that felt for human woe ; 

The dauntless heart that fear'd no human pride ^ 
The friend of man, to vice alone a foe ; 

• Forev'n his failings lean'd to virtue's side.*" 

FOR R. A. Esq, 

KNOW thou, O stranger to the fame 
Of this much lov'd, much honor'd name I 
(For rtone that knew him need be told) 
A warmer heart death ne'er made coJd. 

FOR G. H. Esq. 

THE poor man weeps— here G n sleep*?. 

Whom canting wretches blam'd : 
But with such as he, where'er he be* 

May I be liav^d or d d ! 

» G6ld«mith, 



( ^^0 ) 

A BARD'S EPITAPHi 

IS there a "whim-inspiied fool, 
Owre fast for thouglit, owre hot for rule, 
Owre blate to seek, owre proud to snooli 

Let him draw near ; 
And «W're this grassy heap sing dooly 
And drap a tear. 

Is there a bard of rustic song. 
Who, noteless, steals the crowds amoi>^, 
That weekly this area throng, 

O, pass not by I 
But with a frater-feeiing strong, 

Here heave a sigh. 

Is there a man whose judgment clea^ 
Can others teach the course to steer, 
Yet runs, himself, life's mad career 
Wild as the wave ; 
Here pause—and through the starting tea^ 
Survey this grave. 
The poor inhabitant below 
Was quick to learn and wise to know, 
And keenly felt the friendly glow, 

jind softer Jiame<^ 
But thoughtless follies laid him low, 

And stain'd his name \ 

Reader attend— whether thy soul 
^ars fancy's flights beyond the pole, 
Or darkling grubs this earthly hole, 

In low pursuit ; 
^now> prudent, cautious, setf-controud 

Is wisdom'.^ root* 



( »81 ) 

ON THE LATE CAPTAIN GROSE'S 

Peregrinations through Hcotland^ collecting the anfi* 
quitir« of that kingdom. 

HEAR Laiul o' Cakes, auu Drither Scots, 
Frac 1V1 a ictcuk irk to Jolmny Gioats, 
If there's a hole in a' your coats 

I rede jroii tent it r 
A chiel's amang you, takini^ notes, 

And, faith, he'll prent it. 

If in yo\ir bounds ye chance to light 
Upon a fine, fat, fodgcl wight, 
O' stature short, but genius brij^ht, 

'I hat's he- mark weel— r 
And wow ! he has an unco slij^ht 

O' cauk and keel. 

By some auld, houlct-haunted, biggin,* 
Or kirk deserted by its ri^gin, 
It's ten to anc ye'Il find him snug in 

Some eldritch part, 
Wi dcils, they say, L — d safe's! collcaguin 
At some black art. — 

Ilk p:haist that haunts auld ha' or chaniep. 
Ye s;ipsey-irang that deal in glamor, 
And you cUep read in hell's black grammar, 

Warlocks and witches ; 
Ye'U quake at his conjuring hammer, 

Ye midnight b— es. \ 

It's tauld he was a sodji^er bred, 
And anc wad rathtr fa'n tiuin fled ; 
But now he's quat the spurtle-blade, 

An' (log-skin wallet, \: 

\nd ta'cn the — Jn/ujuarian trade^ 

I think they call it. 

He has a fouth o' auld nick-nackets : ' 
Rusty airn caps and jinglin jackets,! 

* Vide his antiquities of Scotland. 

t Vide his treatise on ancient armour mnd lueafiotiM^ 

R 



( 182 ) 

Wad baud the Lothians three in tackets, 

A towmont gude ; 
And parritch*pats, and aiild saut-backtts, 

Defoie the flood 

Of Eve's first fire he has a cinder j 
Auld Tubalcain's firc-shool and fender; 
That which disiinguibhcd the gender 

O* Balaam's ass ; 
A broom-stick o' the witch of Endor, 

Weel shod wi* brass. 

Forbye, heMl shape you aff fu* gleg 
The cut of Adam's philibee: ; 
The knife that nicket Abel's craig 

He'il prove you fully, 
It was a faulding joctelcg, 

Or hmg-kail gullie.— 

But wad ye see him in his glee, 
For meikle glee and fun has he, 
Then set him down, and twa or three 

Gude fellows wi* him ; 
And /jorr, Ofiort ! shine thou a wee, 

And then ye'll sec him ! 

Now, by the pow'rs o' verse and prose ! 
Thou art a dainty cheil, O Grose ! — 
"NVhae'er o* thee shall ill suppose, 

They sair misca* thee ; 
I'd tak the rascal by the nose. 

Wad say. Shame fa* thee» 

TO MISS CRUIKSHANKS, 

A VKUY TOUJfG LADY. 

Writttn on the blank leaf of a book firesentcd to her by 
the author. 

BEAUTEOUS rose-bud, young and gay. 
Blooming on thy early May, 
Never may'st thou, lovely flow'r, 
Chilly shnnk in sleety show'r! 
Never Boreas* hoary path, 
Never Eurus* pois*nous breath. 



( 183 ) 

Never baleful stellar lights, 

Taint thee with untimely blights! 

Never, never reptile thief 

Riot on thy virgin leaf! 

Nor even Sol loo fiercely view 

Thy bosom biuslilng still with clew ! 

May'st thou long, sweet crimson gem, 
Richly deck thy native stem ; 
'Till some ev'ning, sober, calm, 
Diopping (lews and breathing balm, 
While all around the woodlamd rings: 
And ev'ry biid thy requiem sings : 
Thou, amid the dirgeful sound. 
Shed thy dying honours round. 
And resign to parent earth 
The loveliest form she e'er gave birth. 

SONG. 

ANNA, thy charms my bosom fire, 

And waste my soul with carej 
But ah! how bootless to admire, 

When fated to despair ! 
Yet in thy presence, lovely, Fair, 

To hope may be forgiv'n j 
For sure 'twere impious to despair> 

So much in sight of Heav*n. 

OU READING IJSr AJVRWSPAPEIi, 
THE DEATH OF JOHN M'LEOD, Esa- 

Brother to a young Ladij^ a /mrticular friend (^f the 
Author^s. 

SAD thy tale, thou idle page, 

And rueful thy alarms : 
Death tears the brother of her love 

From Isabella's arms. 

Sweetly deckt with pearly dew 
The morning rose may blow ? 



( 184 ) 

But cold successive noontide blasts 
May lay its beauties low. 

Fair on Isabi !la*s morn 

The suii pK^pitioi's smilM ; 
Bui, lonjj, lie u )on, succecdinjj cloudiv 

Succetdin,; liopes beguil'd ; 

Fate oft teur^ I lie bosom chords 

That iiatui V ihvjst strung : 
So Isalu'lla'b l.cart was foi m'd, 

And so that hcuit was^wrung. 

Djcad Omnipotence, alone, 

Can heal the wountl he p:ftve ; 
Can point the b»*imful t^ricf-worn eye* 

To scenes beyond the p;ravc. 

Virtue's blossoms there sliall blow, 

And tear no wiihciin);- blast ; 
There Isabella's spotless worlU 

Shall happy be at last. 

THE HUMBLE PKTITIOJ^ OF 
BRUAR WATER* 

7l« the ,YoMc Duke of Jt hole. 

MY Lord, I know, your noble ear 

\N'o',' ne'er assails in vain; 
EuiboldenM thus, 1 be^ you'll hear 

Your humble slave complain. 
How saucy Phcebus' scurchinij beams. 

In flaminic sun\ hum -pride, 
Dry-uiih'riiigs waste \\\y foamy streams, 

And dsiuk my chrystal tide. 

The lijjfhtly-jumpinj^ glowrin trouts, 

That thro* my waters play, 
If, in their random, wanton spouts, 

They near the imirgin stray ; 

• Bruur Fatis^ in ^lihoie, (frc txc:'cd'n,^iy /ticturc^gtit 

m\d b^uutif'il : 6ut their t/feC : •:•••.•■"•■• • '':e 

^i\im (^' treat and shrubs^ 



( i»5 ) 

it) hapless chance! they linger lung, 
Vn\ scorching up so shallow, 

They're left the whitening!: stunes amanjj, 
In gasping death to wallow. 

Last day I grat wi* spite and teen, 

As Poet B**** came l)y, 
That to a bard I should be seen 

Wi' half my channel dry : 
A panegyric rhyme, I ween, 

Even as T was he shor*d me ; 
But had I in my gloiy l)een, 

lie, kneeling, wad ador'd me. 

HcMe. foaming- down the skclvy rockii, 

In twisting strength I rin ; 
There* high my boiling torrent smokei^f 

Wild-roaring o'er a linn: 
Enjoying large each spring and well. 

As nature gave them me, 
I am, altho* I say't mysel. 

Worth gaun a mile to sec. 

Would then my noble master please 

To grant my highest wishes, 
lleMl shade my banks wi' tow'ring treesy 

And bonnic spreading bushes. 
Delighted doubly then my Lord, 

You'll wander on my banks. 
And listen mony a grateful bird 

Return you tuneful thanks. 

The sober lav'rock, warbling wild, 

Shall to the skies aspire ; 
The gowdspink, music's gayest child, 

Shall sweetly join the choir: 
The blackbird strong, the lintwhitc clear, 

The mavis mild and mellow ; 
The robin |#nsive autunui cheer, 

In all her locks of yellow : 

'Ihis too, a covert shall ensure. 
To shield them from the storm ;- 
R 2 



( 186 > 

And coward maukin sleep secure, 

Low in her grassy form: 
Here shall the shepherd make his seat, 

To weave his crown of flow'rs ; 
Or find a shelt'ring safe retreat, 

From prone descending show'rs. 

And here, by sweet endearing stealth, 

ShL\ll meet the lovini^ pair, 
Despising- worlds with all their wealth 

As empty idle care. 
The flow'rs shall vie in all their charms 

The hour of heav'n to grace, 
And birks extend their fragrant arms 

To skreen the dear embrace^ 

Here happly too, at vernal dawn, 

Some musing bard may stray 
And eye the smoking dewy lawn 

And misty mountain, grey ; 
Or by the reaper's nightly beam. 

Mild-chequering thro* the trees. 
Rave to my darkly dashing stream. 

Hoarse-swelling oh the breeze. 

Let lofty firs, and a&hes cool. 

My lowly banks o*er spread, 
And view, deep-bending in the pool 

Their shadows' wat'ry bed ; 
Let fragrant birks in woodbines drest 

My craggy cliffs adorn ; 
And, for the little songster's nest, 

The close embowVing thorn. 

So may, old Scotia's darling hope, 

Your little aiv^el band. 
Spring, like their fathers, up to prop 

Their honor'd native land I 
So M ay thro' Albion's farthest ken, 

To social-flowlnjf glasses, ^ 

Thti grace be — " Alhole's honest men ,^ 

" And Athole's bqnnic lasses I" 



( w ) 
ON SCARING SOME WATER FOWL, 

IN LOCH-TURIT, 

ji ivild scene among the hills of Oughtertyr0. 

W II Y, yc tenants of the lake, 
For me your \vat*ry haunt forsake ? 
Tell me, fellow-cieatures, why 
At my presence tluif you fly ? 
Why disturb your soci?.l joy?, 
Parent, fiha!, kindred ties ? — 
Common friend to you and me, 
Nature's ^ilts to all are free : 
Peaceful keep your dimpling wave. 
Busy feed, or wanton lave ; 
Or beneath the shclterini^ rock, 
Bide the surgint^ billow's shock. 
Conscious, blushinpf for our racCi 

Soon, to soon, your fears I trace. 

Man. your proud usurping foe, 

Would be lord of all below : 

Plumes himself in Freedom's pride, 

Tyrant stern to all beside. 

The eagle from the clifl'y brow, 

Marking you his prey below, 

In his breast no pity dwells, 

Strong necessity compels. 

But man to whom alone is giv'n 

A ray direct from pitying heav'n, 

Glories in his heart humane — 

And creatures for his pleasure slain. 

In these savage, liquid plains, 
Only known to wand'ring swains, 
Where the mossy riv'let strays, 
Far from h\iman hau;its and ways ; 
All on Nature you depend. 
And life's poor season peaceful spen^. 



( 188 ) 

Or, if man's superior might 
Dare invade your native right, 
On the lofty aether borne, 
Man with all his pow'rs you scom ^ 
Swiftly seek, on clanging wings, 
Other lakes and other springs ; 
And the foe you cannot brave, 
Scom at least to be his slave. - 

WRITTEN VVrrH A PENCIL 

Over the chimnet/'fiiece ht the fiartour of the Inn at- 
Kenmarey Taymouth. 

ADMIRING Nature in her wildest grace, 
These northern scenes with weary feet I trace ; 
0*er many a winding dale and painful steep, 
Th* abodes of covcy'd grouse and timid sheep ; 
My savage journey, curious, I pursue 
'Till fam'd Breadalbane opens to my view. — 
The meeting cliffs each deep-sunk glen divides, 
The woods wild-scatter'd, clothe their ample sides j 
,Th' outstretching lake, imbosom'd 'mong the hills, 
The eye with wonder and amazement fills ; 
"The Tay meand'fing sweet in infant pride, 
The palace rising on his verdant side ; 
The lawns woodfring'd in Nature's native taste; 
The hillocks dropt in nature's careless haste ; 
The arches striding o'er the new-born stream ; 
The village, glittering in the noontide beam— 
» « * * « # 

Poetic ardors in my bosom swell, 

Lone wand'ring by the hermit's moftsy cell 

The s\Veeping theatre of hanging woods ; 

Th' incessant roar of headlong tumbling floods— 

• *««*» 

Here poesy might wake her heav'n-taught lyre. 
And look through nature with creative fire ; 



( 189 ) 

Here, to the \frongs of fate half reconcil'd, 
Misfortune's lii^htfin'd steps rnig^ht wander wild ; 
And disappointment in tnese lonelv bounds, 
Find balm to soothe her bitter rankiitit; wounds : 
Here heart-struck Grief might heav'nward stretch her 

scan, 
And injur'd Worth for,5et and pardon man. 

WRITTEN WITH A PENCIL, 

Standing by the Fall of Fyersy near Loch-A'ess. 

AMONG the heathy hills and rac^^ed woods 
The roaring^ Fyers pours his mossy floods ; 
'Till full he dashes on the rocky mounds, 
Where, thro* a sh^poiess breach, his stream resounds. 
As high in air" the burstin* torrents flow, 
As deep recoilint^ surges foam below, 
Pi one down the rock the whitening sheet descends, 
And viewl'iss echo's ear, astonished, rends. 
Dim-seen, through rising mist and ceaseless showr's-j 
The hoary cavern, wide-surrounding, low'rs. 
Still thro* the gap the struggling river toils, 
And still, below, the horrid cauldron boils — 
*♦***« 

ON THE BIRTH OF A POSTHUMOUS CHILD.;. 

JSorn in fieculiar clrcuni'itances of family distress. 

SWFET Flow'ret, pledge o' meikle love, 

And ward o' mony a pray'r, 
What heart o' stane wad t!iou na move, 

Sac helpless, sweet, and fair. 

November hirples o*er the lea, 

Chili, on thy lovely form ; 
And gane,alas ! the sheit'ring tree, 

Should shield thee frae the storm. 

May 'If; who gives t'i:i rain to pour, 
A. 1.1 ./ini^s tile oiait to ula.v, 



( loo ) 

Protect thee frae the driving sho\v*r, 
The bitter fro?t and snaw. 

May He, the friend of wde and want, 
Who luteals life's Viirious stounds, 

Protect and ijuard the mother plant* 
And heal her cruel wounds. 

But late she flourish^ rooted fastj 
Fair on the summer morn : 

Now feebly bends she, in the blast> 
Unsheltered and forlorn. 

Blest be thy bloom, thou lovely gem, 
Uni|catb*d by ruffian hand I 

And from thee many a parent stem 
Arise to deck our land. 



THE WHISTLE, A BALLAD* 

AS the authentic Prose history of the Whistle fe 
curious, I shall here give it — In the train of Anne of 
Denmark, when she came to Scotland with our James 
the sixth, there came over also a Danish gentleman of 
gigantic stature and great prowess, and a matchless 
champion of Bacchus. He had a little ebony Whistle, 
which at the commencement of the orgies, he laid on 
the tabic; and whoever was last able to blow it, every 
body else being disabled by tlie potency of the bottle, 
was to carry off the Whistle as a trophy of victory. The 
Dane produced credentials of his victories, without a 
sin^^le defeat, at the courts of Copenhagen, Stockholm, 
Moscow, Warsaw, and several of the petty courts in 
Gei viany; and challenged the Scots Bacchanalians to 
the alternative of trying his prowess, or else of acknow- 
ledging their inferiority.— -After many overthrows on 
the part of the Scots, the Dane was encountered by Sir 
Roljert Lawrie of Maxwelton, ancestor to the present 
worthy baronet of that name ; who, after three days and 
three nights, hard contest, left the Scandinavian undeii- 
tlie table. 

Jr.d bhio on the whistle his requiem shrUL 



(. 1^) ) 

Sir Walter, son to Sir Robert before mentioned, af- 
terwards lost the Whistle to Walter Riddel of Glenrid- 
del, who had married a sister of Sir Waltcr'sr— On Fri- 
day, the 1 6th of October, 1790, at Friars-Carse, the 
Whistle was once more contended for, as related in the 
ballad, by the present Sir Robert Lawrie of Maxwelton : 
Robert Riddel, Esq of Glenriddel, lineal descendant and 
representative of Walter Riddel, who won the VV histle, 
and in whose family it had continued; and Alexander 
Ferguson, Ksq. of Craigdarroch, likewise descended of 
the great Sir Robert ; which last gentleman carried oflT 
the hard-won honours of the field. 

I SING of a Whistle, a Whistle of worth, 
1 sing of a Whistle, the pride of the North, 
Was brought to the court of our good Scottish King 
And long with this AVhistle all Scotland shall ring. 

Old Loda*, still rueing the arm of Fingal, 
'^^ The god of the bottle sends down from his hall— 
'* This Whistle's your challenge, to Scotland get o'er 
'^ And drink them to hell, Sir ! or ne'er sec me more !** 

Old poets have sung, and old chronicles tell, 
What champions ventur'd, what champions fell ; 
The son of great Loda was conqueror still. 
And blew on the Whistle his requiem shrill. 

'Till Robert, the lord of the Caira and the Scaur, 
Unmatch'd at the bottle, unconquer'd in war, 
He drank his poor god-ship as deep as the sea, 
No tide of the Baltic e'er drunker than he. 

Thus Robert, victorious, the trophy has p;ain'd 
Which now in his house has for arjes remain'd. 
'Till three noble chieftains, and all of his blood. 
The jovial contest again have renew'd. 

Three joyous good fellows, with hearts clear of flaw ^^ 
Craigdarroch, so famous forM'it^ worth, and law ; 
And trusty Glenriddel, so skiil'd in oUl coins ; 
And gallant Sir Robert, deep-read in old wines. 

• See OBsian*s Caric-t/iura. 



( 19J ) 

Craigdarroch began, with a tongue amodth as oH, 
Desiiini^ Gleniidclel lo yield up the spoil ; 
Or else he won id iiiusttr the heads of the clan, 
And once nioie in claiet, try which was the man. 

** By the gods of the ancients !" Gienriddel replies, 
^ Before 1 s-urrtnder so gloi lous a prize, 
♦^ I'll conjuie the ghost oi the great Rorie More*, 
** And bumper his horn with him twenty times o'er.*' 

Sir Robert, a soldier, no speech would pretend, 
But he ne'er turn'd his back on his foe — or his IViendj 
Said, toss down the whistle, the prize ot the field, 
And knee-deep in clarei, he'd die, or he'd yield. 

To the board of Cknnddel our heioes repair, 
Sq noted for drowning of sorrow and care ; 
But lor wine and for welcome not nu)re known to fame^ 
Than the sense, wit, and taste, of a sweet lovely dame* 

A bard was selected to witness the fray, 
And tell future a^^es the feats of the day : 
A bard who detested ull sadness and spleen, 
And wish'd that Parnassus a vineyard had been. 

The dinner beine: over, the claret they ply 
And ev'ry new cork is a new sprinc; of joy ; 
In the bands of old friendsliip and kindred so set. 
And the bands grew the tighter the more they ^v^re 
wet. 

Gay pleasure ran riot as bumpers ran o*er : 
Bright Phc?bus ne'er witness'd so joyous a cove. 
And vow'd that to leave tl;cm he was quiti' forlorn, 
Till Cynthia hinted he'd see them next morn. 

Six bottles a-piece had well wore out the night. 
When gallant Sir P.obert, to finish the fight, 
Tu; nVI o'er m one bumper a bottle of red. 
And swore 'twas the way that their ancestor did. 

Then worthy Glenriddel, so calitibur, and sage, 
No longer the warfare, ungodly, would uage ; 

* See Johrvjfi^s lour to tJie Het rules. 



( 193 ) 

A high ruling elder to wallow in wine 1 
He left the foul business to loiks less divine. 

The gallant Sir Robert fought hard to the end ; 
But who can Avith fate and quart bunnpers contend ^ 
Though fate said — a heroe should perish in light ; 
So uprose bright Phosbus, and down fell the knight. 

Next uprose ©ur bard, like 9 prophet in drink :— 
" Craigdarroch, thoul't soar when creation shall sink I 
" But if thou would flourish imn\ortal in rJiyme, 
** Como— one bottle more, — and have at the sublime t 

*' Thy lincj that have struggled for freedom >vitU 
Bruce, 
'' Shall heroes and patriots ever produce : 
" So thine be the laurel, and mine be the bay ; 
" The field thou hast won, by yoa bright god of day I'* 

SECOND EPISTLE TO DAVIE, 
A BROTHER POJET* 

AULD NEEBOR, 

I'M three times, doubly, o'er, your debtor, 
For your auld-farrent, frie^'ly letter; 
Tho* I maun say't, I doubt ye flatter, 

Ye speak sae fair; 
For my poor, silly, rhymin clatter 

Some less maun sair. 

Hale be your heart, hale be your fiddle; 
Lang may your elbuck jink an' diddle, 
To cheer you thro' the weary widdle 

O' war'ly cares, 
Till bairns' bairns kindly cuddle 

Your auld, gray hairs. 

But BAviE, lad, Pm red ye're glaikit; 
Pm tauld tlie Muse ye hae negleckit ; 

♦ IViia is firefixed to the fioems of David Sillaryfiuhlhh* 
ed at Kilmarnock^ 1789^ and has not hefort afiiuartd m 
vur aut/ipr^a firinted fiodmi. 
S 



( it4 ) 

An' gif its sac, ye siid be licket 

Until ye fyke ; ** 

Sic haims as you sud ne'er be faikit, 
Be hain't wha like. 

For me, I'm on Parnassus brink, 

Rivan the words to gar them clink ; 

Whyles daez't Tvi' love whyles daez*t wi* 4nnk, 

Wi' jads or Mason's ; 
An* whiles, but ay owrc late, I think 

Braw sober lessons. 

Of a* the thoughtless sons o* man, 
Commen* me to the Bardie clan ; 
Except it be some idle plan 

O* rhymin clink, 
The devil-haet, that I sud ban. 

They ever think. 

Nat thought, nte view, nae scheme o* livin*, 
Nae cares to gie us joy or grievin* : 
But just the pouchie put the nieve in. 

An* while aught's there, 
Then, heltie, skeltie we gae scrivin*, 

An* fash nae mair. 

Leeze me on rhyme ! it*s ay a treasure 
My chief, amaist my only pleasure, 
At hamc, a-field, at work, or leisure. 

The Muse, poor hizzi 
The* rough an* raploch be her measure^ 

She's seldom lazy. 

Hand to the Muse, ray dainty Davie : 
The warl' may play you monie a shavie ; 
But for the Muse, she'll never leave ye, 

Tho' e'er sae poor, 
Na even tho' limpan wi* the spavic 

Frae door to door. 



ON MY EARLY DAYS. 

I. 

1 MIND it wcel in early date, 

When I was tjcardless, young and blate 

An' first could thresh the burn; 
Or haUvl a yokin o* the pleugh ; 
An' tho* forfoughten suir enough, 

Yet unco proud to learn t 
When first amang the yellow coj-n 

A man I reckon'd was, 
And wi' the lave ilk merry iriorr. 
Could rank my rig and lass, 
Still shearing, and clearing 
The titherstookcdraWj 
Wi' claivers, an* haivers, 
Wearing the day awa. 

II. 

E'en then, a wish, I mind its powV, 
A wish that to my latest hour 

Shall strongly heave my breast, 
That I for poor auld Scotland's sake, 
Some usefu' plan or book could make^ 

Or sing a sang at least. 
The rough bur-thistle, spreading wid^, 

Amang the bearded bear, 
I turn'd thii wcedcr-dips aside, 
An' spard the symbol dear.: 
No nation, no station, 

My envy e'er could raise, 
A Scot still, but blot still, 
I knew nae higher praise. 

111. 

But still the elements o' sang 

In formless jumble, right an* wrangv 

Wild floated in my brain ; 
'Till on that har'st I said before. 
My partner in the merry core 

She rous'd the forming strain ;- 



( >«6 ) 



I see tier yet the sonsie queen. 

That liglUed up my uigle, 
Her 'witching smile, her pauky e^eii 
That f;urt my heart-strings tlnglt^ 
J li'.etl, inspired, 

At ev'iy kindling keek,. 
But bashing, and dashing, 
I feared ay to speak. 



« 4( « • « » 



SONG.— 7««f-l' Bonnie Dundee/ 

IN Manchline there dwells six propv^^r youn^^ Belles;, 
Tlie pride of the place and its neighbourhood a* 

Their carnage and dress, a stranger would guess, 
In Lon*on or Paris they'd gotten it a' : 

Miit9 Miller is fine, J^Uss Markland*6 divine, 

Miss Smith she has wit, and Miss Betty is braw; 

There's beauty and fortune to get wi* Miits Morton^ 
But Armonr\* the jewel for rae o* them a*. 

0^r THE DEATH OF 
SIR JAMEiJ HUNTER BLAIR. 

THE lamp of day with ill-presaging glare. 
Dim, cloudy, sunk beneath the western wave ; 

Th' inconstant blast howlM thro* the darkening air<, 
And hollow M'histled in the rocky cave. 

Lone as I wander'd by each cliff and dell, 
Once the lovM haiuUs of Scotia's royal train ;t 

Or raus'd where limpid streaaia once hallow'i welljt 
Or mould'ring ruins m-irk the sacred Fane § 

Th' increasing blast roar'd rouid the beetling rocks, 
The clouds swift-wing'd il^w o'er the starry sky, 

* This is one of our Bard*s early ftroctuctions. Mm 
Armour is uoiif Mrs. Burns. 

t 7yif' AiXff'*' /*«/*.(:, at Holyrood'house* 
i 6V. Anthony's Well. 
^ St. AnthQny*s Cha^ieU 



i \97 ) 

The groaning trees untimely shed their locks, 
And shooting meteors caught the startled eye. 

The paley moon rose in the livid east, 

And 'mong the cliffs disclos'd a stately Form, 

In weeds of woe that frantic beat her breast, 
And mix*d her wailings with the raving storm . 

Wild to my heart the fihal pulses glow, 

'Twas Caledonia's trophied shield I view'd ; 

Her form majestic droop'd in pensive woe, 
The light'ning of her eye in tears imbued. 

Reversed that spear, redoubtable in war, 

Rcclin*d that banner, erst in field's unfurl'd, 

That like a deathful meteor gleam'd afar, 

And brav'dthe mighty monarchs of the world.-— 

** My patriot son fills an untimely grave !" 
With accents wild and lifted arms she cried ; 

'' Low lies the hand that oft was stretch'd to save, 
" Low lies the heart that swell'd with honest pride ! 

^ A weeping country joins a widow's tear, 

*♦ The helpless poor mix with the orphan's cry ; 

<* The drooping arts surround the patron's bier, 
" And grateful science heaves the heartfelt sigh.— . 

« I saw my sons resume their ancient fire ; 

" I saw fair freedom's blossoms richly blow : 
" But ah how hope is born but to expire ! 

" Relentless fate has laid their guardian low,—. 

" My patriot falls, but shall he lie unsung, 
" While empty greatness saves a worthless name! 

'* No ; every Muse shall join her tuneful tongue, 
" And future ages hear his growing fame. 

* And I will join a mother's tender cares, 

" Thro* future times to make his virtues last, 

" Thdt distant years may boast of other Blairs" — , 
She said, and Vanish'd with the sweeping blasL— - 

S 2, 



( 1»8 ) 

Written in the blank leaf of a copy ofthefioeim^prcten 
ed to a7i old Sweethearty then married. 

ONCE fondiy I(>vM and still rememberM deai'i 
Sweet early object of my youthful vows, 

Accept this mark of friendship, warm, sincere, 
Friendship I 'tis all cold duty now allows.— 

And when you read the simple artless rhymes^ 
One friendly sigh for him, he asks no more* 

Who distant burns in flaming torrid climes, 
Or haply lies beneath ih* Atlantic's roar. 

HOLY WILLIE'S PRAYER. 

THOU, M'ha in the heavens dost dwell, 
Wha as it pleases best thysel', 

Sends ane to heaven and ten to hell , 

A' for thy glory, 
And no for ony gude or ill 

They've done afore thee 1 

1 bless ami praise thy matchless might, 
Whan thousands thou hast left in night.,^ 
That I am here before thy sight, 

For gifts an* grace- 
A burwn'an' a shinnin' light, 

To a' this place. 

What ^as I, or my generation, 
That I should jjjet such exaltation, 
I wha deserve sic just damnation, 

For broken laws, 
Five thousand years e'er my creation^ 

Thro* Adam's cause. 

When frae my mithcr's womb I fell, 
Thou might have plunged me in hell, 
To gnash my gums, to weep and wail> 

In bumin* lake, 
Whar damned devils roar and yell, 

Chaift'd to a stakes 



( 190 ) 

Yet I am here a chosen sample» 

To show thy grace is great an* ample 

Vm here a pillar in thy temple. 

Strong as a rock|. 
A guide, a leader an' example 

To a* thy flock. 

But yet, O L-— d ! confess I must, 
At limes Tm fashVi wi' fleshly lubt; 
An* sometimes too, wi* warldly trwst 

Vile self gets in ^ 
But thou remembers we are dust, 

Defird in sin. 

O L — d ! yestreen, thou kens, wi* Me g, 
Thy pardon I since! eJy beg, 
O I may *t ne'er be a livin plague 

To my dislvonor,. 
An* rU ne'er lift a lawless leg 

Again upon her^ 

Besides, I farther maun avow, 
Wi*'Lizie*s lass, three times I trow ; 
But, L — d, that Friday I was fou, 

When I came near her, 
Or else, thou kens, thy servant true 

Wad ne'er hae steer'd her. 

May be thou lets thh Jies/ii/ thorn 

Buffet thjf servant e'en and morn, 

Lest he owre high and proud shou'd turn*. 

'Cause he's sae giftedy 
If sae, thy han* maun e*en bs borne, 

Until thou lift it, 

L — d bless thy chosen in this place^ 

For here thou hast a chosen race ; 

But G-«— d confound their stubborn face, 

And blast their name, 
Wha bring thy elders to disgrace 

An' public shame. 

L — d mind G n H < n's deserts. 

He drinks, an* swears, and plays at carts, 



( 200 ) 

Yet has sac mony takin* arts, 

Wi* grit ail' sma' 
Frae G— d'sain priest the people's hearts 

He steals awa*. 
An* whan we chasten'd him therefore, 
Thou kens how he bred sic a splore, 
As set the warld in a roar 

O' laujjhin* at us ; 
Curse thou his basket an* his store, 

Kail an* potatoes. 

L — d hear my earnest cry an' pray'r, 

Apjainst that presbyt'ry o' Ayr ; 

Thy strong right hand, L — d make it barir. 

Upo* their heads, 
L — d weigh it down, and dinna spare, 

For their misdeeds. 

O L— d my G— d, that glib tonj>:u*d A n 

My very heart an* saul are quakin*, 
To think how we stood sweatin*, sbakrn* 

An* p — d wi* dread. 
While he wi' hmgin lips and snakin* 

Held up his head. 
L — d in the day of vcntjfeance try him, 
.L — d visit them wlia did employ him, 
An* pass not in thy mercy by 'em, 

Nor hear their pray'r; 
But for thy people's sake destroy 'em. 

And dinna spare. 
But L-— d remember me and mine 
Wi' mercies temp'ral and divine. 
That I for gear and grace may shinc» 

Excell'd by nane, 
4?i' a' the glory shall be thine^ 

Amen, Amen f 



( 201 > 

A MAN'S A MAN, FOR A* THAT 

J SO.YG. 

IS there for honest poverty, 

Wha hanp;» his hc.\»l an' i' thut ? 
The coward slave \vc pass liim hy, 

And dare be poor for a* tliiit. 
Vor a* that, and a' that> 

Our toils obscure, an' a' th.At, 
The lank is but the ji;u'nii;i stamp, 

Tlie man's the gowd, tor u' that. 

Whattho' on ham«ly fare tve dine, 

Wear hodden pjr.iy, and a' that ? 
Gic lools thtlr silk, and knave* their wiuc;, 

A mati's ft man, for a* that. 
For a* that, and a* that, 

Tlieir tinsel slicw, an' a' that ; 
An honesr mail, tho' ne'er sac poor, 

Is chief o' men for a' that. 

Ye sec yon birkie, ea'd a lord) 

Wha struts aivl stares, an* a* that, 
Tho' huiKlred'i worship :\{, his woid, 

Ile'fi b\tt a cuif lor a* thai. 
For a' th it, and a* that, 

His ribband, star, unfl a* that ; 
A man of independent n»ind, 

Can look and laii^U at a' that. 

ri.ekinj^can mak' a belted knijj^ht, 

A marquis, (hike, and a' ll»at. 
An honest man'a aboon his mi^jht, 

Gudc faith, he maunna fa' lluvtl 
For a* that, and a' that, 

I lis diijnilies and a' that ! 
V\).: pith o* sense, and jxide o* worth, 

Are granilcr far Ihun a* that. 

Tlien let us pray that come it maj# 
Ai^ come it siiall for u' that ; 



( 302 ) 

That sense and worth o*er a' the earth. 
Shall bear the gree, and a* that; 

For a* that, and a* that, 

It's cominitj yet, for a' that ; 

Whan man and man, the warld o*er, 
Shall brothei*s be and a* that. 

EPISTLE FROM A TAYLOR 

To Robert Burnt. 

WHAT wacTu* news is this I hear ? 
Frae j^reeting T can scarce forbear, 
Folk tells me, ye're gaun aff this year, 

Out o'er the sea, 
And lasses wham ye lo*e sae dear 

Will greet for thet. 

Weel wad I like war ye to stay, 
But Robin since ye will away, 
I ha'e a word yet mair to say, 

And maybe tMra j 
May he protect us night an* day, 

That made us a'. 

Whar tliou art gaun, keep mind frac ra.c' 
Seek him to bear thee companie, 
And, Robin, whan ye come to die, 

Ye'll won aboon, 
An* live at peace an' unity 

Ayont the moon. 

Some tell me. Rah. ye dinna lear 
To get a Wean, an* curse an* swear, 
I*m unco wae, my lad,lo hear 

O* sic a trade, 
Cou'd I persuade ye to forbear, 

I wad be glad. 

Fii' weel ye ken ye'll gang to heUf 
Gin ye persist in doui* ill— 



( 201 ) 

Wacs me ! y«*rc hurlin* down the hill 
Withoutcn dread, 

An* ye*n get leave to swear your fill 
Atier ye*re dead. 

There, walth o* women ye*ll get near, 
But gettin weans, ye will forbear, 
Ye*li never say, my bonnie dear 

Come, gie's a kiss*— 
Nae kissbii;; thcr^— ye'll girn an* sneer, 

An* ithcr hiss. 

O Rab! lay by thy foolish tricks. 

An' steer nae mair the female sex, 

Or some day ye'll come tii'ou^;h the prick», 

An* that ye'U see ; 
y^'ll fin* hard living; wi' Auld Nicks : 

Tm wae for thee. 
l5ut what*s this comes wi' sic a knell, 
Amaist as loud as ony bell 
While it does Biak* my conscience tell 

Me what is true, 
I'm but a raggct cowt myscl', 

Owre sib to you ! 

We're owre like those wha think it fit» 
To stuff their noddles fu' o* wit. 
An* yet content in darkness sit, 

Wha shun the lightr 
To let them see down to the pit. 

The lang dark night. 

But fareweel, Rab, I maun aw a*, 
May he that made us keep us a', 
For that wad be a dreadfu' fa* 

And hurt us sair, 
Lad, ye wad never mend ava, 

Sae Rab, tak* care. 



( 204 ; 

KOBERT BURN3* AN^JpEH. 

WHAT ails ye now,,ye lousie b— — h, 
To tliiesh my buck at sic a pitch ? 
Losh, nianl hae mercy wi* your natch, 

Your bodkin's bauld, 
1 did na suifcr ha*i sae much 

Frae Daddic Auld. 

What the* at times M'hen I grow crouse* 
I gi*c their wamts a random pouse, 
Is that eneugh for you to souse 

Your fcrvant fke ? 
Gae mind your seam, ye prick the louse, 

An* jag the flae. 

King David o* poetic brief, 

Wrouj^ht *mang the lasses sic mischief 

As fiird bis after life w\* grief 

An' bloody rawts, ' 

'^An' yet he's rankM umang the chief 

O* lang syne saunts. 

And maybe* Tarn, for a' my cants, 
My wicked rhymes, an* drucken rants, 
ril gi'e auld cloven Clooty's haunts 

An unco slip yet, 
An* smigly sit amang the saunts, 

At Davie*s hip yet. 

But fegs the Sessioii says I maun 

Gae fa' tipo' anither plan, 

Than garren lasses cowp the cran 

Clean heels o^vro body, 
And fairly thole their mither's ban, 

Afore the howdy, 

This leads me on to tell for sport. 
How I did wi* the Session sort — 
Auld Clinkum at the Inner port 

Cry'd three time*, ** Robin l*-" 
* Come Wither lad, an' answer for't, 

" Y'e're blamed for jobbin'." 



( 205 ) 

Wr pinch I put a Sunday's face on, 
An* siioov'd avvu* before tlie Session— 
I made au open fair confession, 

I scorn'd to lie; 
An* syne Mess John, beyond cxpressio», 

Fell foul o* me. 

A fumicator loun he call'd me, 

An' said my fau't fi ae bliss expeird me, 

1 own*d the taJe was true he teJl'd me, 

* But what the matter T 
Quo* I, * I fear unless ye geld me, 

Vn ne'er be better.* 

** Geld you !** quo' he, " and wharfore nq, 
*' If that your right hand, leg or toe, 
** Should ever prove your sp'ritual foe, 

" You shou'd remember 
** To cut it aff, an* vv^hatfore no, 

" Your dearest member.** 

^ Na, na*, quo* I, * Tm no for that, 

* Gelding's nae better than 'tis ca't, 

* I'd rather suffer for my fau't, 

* A hearty flewit, 

' As fair owre hip as ye can draw't 

* *Tho* I should rue it. 

* Or gin ye like to end the bother, 

* To please us a*, I've just ae ither, 

< When next v^ri' yon lass I forgcther, 

* Whate*er betide it, 

* I'll frankly gi*e her*t a' thegither, 

* An' let her guide it.' 

But, Sir, this pleas'd thero warst ara, 
An' therefore Tarn, when that I saw, 
I said ♦ Gudc Right,' and cam' awa. 

And left the Session, 
I saw they were resolved a' 

On my oppression. 



( ao6 > 

THE BIRKS OF ABERFELDY. 

iBotmie lassie, ivi'li ye gOy tvill ye go, will ye go. 
fionnie lassie, ivill ye go to the Birka ofAberfeldy f 

NOW simmer blinks on flowery braes, 
And o'er the chrystal streamlet plays, 
Come let us spend the lijjhtsome days 
In thebirks of Aberfeldy. 
Bonnie lassie, Is^c. 

While o'er their heads the hazels hing, 
The little birdies blythely sing, 
Or lightly flit on wanton wing 
In the birks of Aberfeldy. 
Bonnie lassie, isfc. 

The braes ascend like lofty wa*s, 
The foaming streams deep roaring fa*», 
O'er hung wi* fragrant spreading shaws, 
The birks of Aberfeldy. 
Bonnie lassie, tS^c. 

The hoary cliflFs are crownM wi* flowers, 
White o*cr the linns the burnie pours, 
And rising weets wi* misty showers 
The bilks of Aberfeldy. 
Bonnie lassie, k!fc. 

Let fortune's e:ifts at random flee, 
They nc*cr shall draw a wish frae me, 
Supremely blest wi* love and thee 
In the birks of Aberfeldy. 
Bojinie lassie, is^c* 

♦ T/iis is written in the saine measure as the Birk* 
of Abergeldie, an old Scottish, song, from iMch nothing 
ts horrovoed but the chorus. 



( 207 ) 

STAY, MY CHARMER, CAN YOU LEAVE ME.. 

rwwf—" An Gillie Dubh cair Dhubh'* 

STAY, my charmer, can you leave me ? 

Cruel, cruel to deceive me ! 

Well you know how much you grieve mej 

Cruel charmer can you go! 

Cruel cliarmer can yo\i go I 

By my love so ill requited : 
Uy the faith you fondly plit^hted; 
By the pangs of lovers sli;^hted ; 

Do not, do not leave me so I 

Do not, do not leave me so ! 

STRATH ALLAN'S LAMENT. 

THICKEST night o'erhanj^- my dwelling! 

Howling tempests o'er me rave ! 
Turbid torrents, wintry swelling, 

Still surround my lonely cave \ 

Chrystal streamlets gently flowing, 

Busy haunts of base mankind^ 
Western bi eezes softly blowing, 

Suit not my distracted miod. 

In the cause of right engaged, 

Wrongs Injurious to redress, 
Honor's war we strongly waged, 

But (he heavens deny*d success. 

Ruin's wheel has driven o'er us, 

Not a hope that dare attend, 
The wide world is all before us— 

But a world without a friend 1* 

* Siraiha/lan, il ia/ire8u?nc(l, was one offhefolh<ii>ep8 
of the young chevalier., and is ^u/i/ioscd to be lying conceal^ 
ed in some cave of the Highlands^ after the battle of Cuiy 
hden. This song nvas written bifore the year 1?'88. 



( £08 ) 

THE \ OUNG HIGHLAND ROVER- 
Tutif — '•'Morag." 

l>OUD blaw the frosty breezes, 

The snaw3 the mountains cover; 
Like M'intcr on mc seizes. 

Since my young highland rover 

Far wanders nations over. 
WluTe'cr \v: go, whereVr iie stray^ 

May lieavcn be his warden 
Return !iim safe to fair Strathspey, 

And honnie C'astlc-Cordon I 

The trees now naked groaning, 

Shidl soon wi* leaves bc^ hinging, 
Tl^-'Midies dowle moaning, * 

Snail u* bi^ ^5^Leiy sln^illgf; 

Arid every flo\'er be s])i inging. 
Sac ril rejoice tiie lee lang day, 

When by b.\h mighLy wu^iden- 
My youth's retuin'cl to fa'r Strathspey, 

And bonnie Castle-Ciordon.* 

HAVING WINDS AROUND HER BLOWING 
Tune-^^^ M'Gr.'gor 9/ Rero*s Lament** 

R WING \Tinds around her blowing. 
Yellow leaves the wootKiiiis slrowing;, 
lU a river hoarsely roaring, 
Isabella stray'd deploring 
* Farewell, hours t lat late did measure 
" Sunshine days of joy and pleasure; 
** Hail, thou gloomv night of sorrow, 
** Ciiecrless night th.vt knows no morrow. 

" 0*er the past too fondlv wandering, 
•* Oo the hopeless future pondering ; 

• Ihe i/ourtff hi:rhland 7\)ver^ is sttfi/iosed (0 be the 
young chevalier^ Prince Charles Edward, 



( 209 ) 

*< Chilly grief my life-blood freezes, 
** Fell despair my fancy seizes. 
" Life, thou soul of every blessing, 
" Load to mis'ry most distressing, 
** O how gladly IM resign thee, 
" And to dark oblivion join thee T** 

MUSING ON THE ROARING OCEAN. 

Tune — ^'' Druimion Dubh." 

MUSING on the roaring ocean, 
Which divides my love and me ; 

Wearying heaven in warm devotion. 
For his weel where'er he be. 

Hope and fear's alternate billow 

Yielding late to Nature's law, 
Whisp'ring spirits round my pillow 

Talk of him that's far awa. 

Ye whom sorrow never wounded, 

Ye who never shed a tear, 
Care-untroubled, joy-surrounded. 

Gaudy day to you is dear. 

Gentle night do thou befriend me 5 

Downy sleep, the curtain draw i 
Spirits kind again attend me, 

Talk of him that's far awa ! 

BLYTHE WAS SHE, 

Biijthe^ blythe and merry was s/ie^ 

Blythe was she but and ben : 
Blythe bi/ the banks of Erriy 

jind blythe in Glenturit Glen* 

BY Oughtertyre grows the aik, 
On Yarrow banks, the birkin shavv j 

* The occasion on which this fioem was written ^ ^ffu^ 
i^](iown to the Editor* It is an earli^ comliositiqj}., 
T 2 



( 210 ) 

But Phcmic was a bonnier lass 
Than braes o' Yarrow ever saw. 
Blythi-t isfc. 

Her looks were like a flow'r in May, 
Her smile was like a simmer morn ; 

She tripped by the banks of Em, 
As lij^ht's a bird upon a thorn. 
Blijthey i^c. 

Her bonine face it was as meek 

As ony Iamb upon a lee ; 
The evening sun was nc*er sae sweet 

As was the bhnk o* Phemie's e*e. 

J3iyt/iry Isfc. 

The Highland hills I've wander'd wide, 
And o*er the Lowlands I hae been ; 

But Phemie was the blythest lass 
That ever trode the dewy green. 
Bhjthcy IS^c. 

A ROSE-BUD BY MY EARLY WALK. 

A ROSE-bud by my early walk, 
Adown a coin-inclosed bawk, 
Sae gently 1>cnt its thorny stalk, 
All on a dewy morning. 

Ere twice the shades o' dawn are fletj, 
In a' its crimson glory spread, 
And drooping rich the dewy head, 
It scents the early morning. 

Within the bush, her covert nest 
A little linnet fondly presf, 
The dew sat chilly on iier breast 

Sae early in the morning, 
^he soon shall see her tender brood, 
The pride, the pleasure o' the wood, 
^.mang the fresh green leaves bedew*d» 
Awake the early morning. 



( «n ) 

So thou, dear bird, youn^ Jeany fair, 
On trembliiij^ string or vocal air, 
Shall sweetly pay the tender care 
That tents thy early morning. 

So thou, sweet rose-hud, young and gay 
Shalt beauteous blaze upon the day, 
And bless the parent's evening ray 
That watch'd thy early morning.* 

^VUER£ KRAVIMa ANGRY WINTKR*8 STORMS* 

Tune — ^" M Go%u*» Lamentation for Abercairney. 

WIIKRT. braving afigry winter's storms, 

The lolly Ochels rise', , 

Far in their shade my Pegiry's charms 

First blest my wondering eyes. 
As one who by some savage stream, 

A lonely gem suiveys, 
AstonishM doubly marks its beam, 

With art's most polish'd blaze. 

Blest be the wild sequester'd shade, 

And blest the day and hour. 
Where Peggy's charms I fiist survey 'd, 

When first I felt their pow'r! 
The tyrant death with grim controul 

May seize my fleeting breath ; 
But tearing Peggy from my soul 

Mubt be a stronger death. 

TIBBIE I HAE SEEN THE DAY. 
Timc'—'^^ Inveucald's Rekl.' 
O Tibbie., I hae seen the day 

Ye nvouid nae been sue nhy ; 
For laik o' gear ye lightly me, 
But trowth, J care na by. 

YES I'REEN I met you on the moor, 

Ye spak na, but gaed by like sloure; 

» This song was written during thr ivinfer oflTST, 
Mist. J. C. daughter of H friend of the Bard\ is (he 
heroine. 



( 2)2 ) 

Ye geek at me because Tm jjoor^ 
Bat fient a hair care I. 
O Tibbie, Jhae, isfc, 

I doubt na, lass, but ye may think, 
Because ye hae the name o' clink, 
That ye can please me at a wink, 
Whene'er ye hke to try. 
O Tibbie, I hae, ^c. 

But sorrow tak him that's sae mean, 
Altho' his pouch o* coin were clean, 
Wha follows ony saucy quean 
That looks sae proud and high. 
O Tibbie, Jhae,i^c, 

Altho' a lad were e'er sae smart, 
If that he want the yellow dirt, 
Ye'll cast your head anither airt, 
And answer him fu' dry. 
O Tibbie, I hae, Ijfi.. 

But if he hae the name o' gear, 
Ye*ll fasten to him like a brier, 
Tho' hardly he for sense or lear. 
Be better than the kve. 
O Tibbie, I hae, l}fc. 

But, Tibbie, lass, tak my advice, 
Your da<)die*s gear maks you sae nice; 
The <^ V. a ane wad spier your price, 
We;e ye as poor as I, 
G Tibbie, I hae, Isfc, 

There lives a lass in vonder park, 
I would na gie her under sark, 
For thee wi* a* thy thousan' mark; 
Ye need nae look sae^ high. 
O Tibbie, I /me, IsTc. 

CLAniNDA, 

CLARIND^, mistress of my soul^ 
The measur'd time \\ run \ 



C 213 ) 

The wretch beneath the dreai-y pole 

So marks his latest sun. 
To what dark cave of frozen night 

Shall poor Sylvander hie ; 
Depr.T'd of ihee, his life audttght, 

The sun of all his joy. 
We Dart— but by these precious drops^ 

That fill thy lovely eyes I 
No other h^^ht s'uall cj;uide my steps, 

*Till thy bright beanis arise. 
She, the fair sun of all her sex, 

Has blest my tvlorious day : 
And shall a t^linVm-nn^ planet fix 

My worship to its ray I 

THE D \Y RETURN >, MY BOSOM BURNS 

r</n/'— « Scvc-nlh of November}' 

THE day returns, my bosom burns, 
The b'' ssful X\y ^ve t\V3 did meet, 
Tho' viVAXtx w'id '.«! tempest toil'd, 

NeVr suTnmer sun was half sae sweet. 
Than a' f .rj pnde that loads the tide, 

And /: osscs o'er the sultry line ; 
Tbc*i • ingly vobcs, than crowns and f^lobes, 
U^; -li gave me more, it m^de thee mine 
While day and night can bring delight, 

Or natu'-e au^ht of pleasure give! 
While |ov s above, my mind can move, 

For thee, and thee alone I live I 
When that grim foe of hte below 

Comes in between to make us part ; 
The iron hand that breaks our bind, ^ 

It breaks my bliss — it breaks my heart. * 

THE LAZY MIST. 

THE lazy mist hangs from the brow of the hill, 
Concealing the course of the dark windini^ rill ; 



( 214 ) 

How lanf^uid the scents, late so sprightly, appeal;, 
As;>viUiinn to winter resigns the pale year. 
Tlie Ibrests are leafless, l!ie meadows are brown, 
And aU the gay foppery of summer is flown : 
Apart let me wander, apirt let me muse, 
How quick time is flyln^^j, how keen fate pursues ; 
How long I have liv'd-— biit how much liv'd in vain j 
How little of liu's scanty span may remain : 
What aspects, old time, in his pros^rtrss, has M'orn ; 
What ties, cruel fate, in my bosom has torn. 
How foolish, or worse, *till our summit is gain*d ! 
And downward, how weaken*d, how darkenM, how 

pain*d ! 
This life's not worth having with all it can give, 
For something beyond it poor man sure must live. 

O, WERE I ON PARNASSUS' HIL^. 
Tune — " A/y love is lost to meS* 

WERE I on Parnassus* hill 
Or had of Helicon my iill ; 
That I might catch poetic skill, 

To sing how dear I love thee. 
But Nith maun be my muse's well ; 
My muse maun be thy bonnie sell ; 
On Corsincon I'll glowr and spell. 

And write how dear I love thee. 

Then come, sweet m\ise, inspire my lay 
For a' the lee-lang simmer's day, 
. 1 cou'dna sing, I cou'dna say, 

How much, how dear, I love thee. 

1 see thee dancing o*er the green, 

Thy Waist sae jimp, thy limbs sae cle£vl>j 
Thy tempting lips, thy roguish e'en— 

By heaven and earth I love thee ! 
By night, by day, "a-field, at hame. 
The thoughts o' thee my brea.t inflarar ; 
And ay I muse and sing thy name, 

I cnly live to love thee. 



( 215 ) 

"Tho* 1 were doom'd to wander oni 
Beyondthe 8ea» beyond the sun, 
'Till my last, weary sand was run ; 
'Till then— and tfcen I love thee. 

I LOVE MV^ Jl^AN. 
Tune—" Miss Admiral GordorCs Scraths/iey/* 

OF a' the airts the wind can blaw, 

I dearly like the west, 
For there the bonnie lassie liveat 

The lassie I lo*c best : 
There wild woods grow, and rivers row. 

And mony a hill between ; 
But day and night my fancy's flight 

Is ever wi* my Jean. 
I see her in the dewy flowers, 

I see her sweet and fair ; 
I hear her in the tunefu* birds, 

I hear her charm the air : 
There's not a bonnie flower, that springs 

By fountain, shaw, or green, 
There's aot a bonnie bird that sings, 

But minds me o* my Jean. 

THE BRAES O' BALLOCHMYLE. 

THE Catrine woods were yellow seen, 

The flower's decay'd on Catrine lee,* 
Nae lav'rock sang on hillock green, 

But na.urc sicken'd on the e'e. 
Thro* faded groves Maria sang, 

Hersel in beauty's bloom the wlulc, 
And ay the wild-wood echoes rang, 

Fareweel the braes o* Ballochmyle. 

* Cutrinr, in Jyrthirc^ the srat of Outlaid Stewart f 
Rsq. Proffisor of Moral Pfiilosofihy in the University of 
Edinburgh. Ballochmyle ^formerly the scat of Sir Jotm 
Whiteford^ now « ■ . Jilcxandrr^ Esq. 



< 216 ) 

Low in your wintry beds, ye flowers, 

A^amyt-'Il floiuish fresh and fair; 
Yc birdies dunii), in withering bowers, 

Again yeM) charm the vocal air. 
But here alas 1 for me nae mair ; 

Shall birdie charm, or ilowrct smile ', 
¥ arewcel the bontiy banks of Ayr, 

Fareweel, fareweel 1 sweet Bullochmyle 

WILLIE BREW*D A PECK ()' MAUT. 

O WILLIE brew'd a peck o* maut, 

And Rob^and Allan cam to see ; 
Three blythcr hearts that lee-lang night, 

Yc wad na find in Christendie. 

IVe are nac Jou^ we're nae thatfou 

But just a drapfiie in our e*e ; 
The cock may craWy the day may daw 

And ay ive*U taste the bmrky bree. 

Here are we met, three merry boys, 
Three merry boys I trow are wc ; 
And mony a nii4;ht we*ve merry been. 
And mony mae we hope to be I 
We are vafou^ lufc. 

It is the moon. I ken her horn, 
That's bHnkin in the lift sac heigh ; 

She shines sae bright to wylc tls hamc, 
But by my sooth she'll wait a wee ! 
Wc tire nafou^ Ufa. 

Wha first shall rise to gang awa, 

A cuckold, coward loun is he ! 
Wha first beside iiis chair shall fa% 

He is the king amang us three I 
IFe are nafou^ 45*c.* 

* WilHe, wAo " bremMapeck o* maut," «f«* Mr. WU- 
h'ttm M'col ; and Fob and Mfan, were cur fioety and .'./# 
friend^ jiUan Master ton. The f>e three honest fellows, all mm 
of uncommon talents, mre now all under the turf. (1799.) 



( 21> > 

THE BLUE-EYED LASSIE. 

i GAED a waefu* gate, yestreen, 
A gate, 1 fear, Til dearly rue ; 

I gat niy death frae twa sweet e'en, 
Twa lovely e*cn o* bonnie blue. 

'Twas not her golden ringlets bright ; 
Hei lips like roses, wat wi' dew, 

Her heaving bosom, lily-white- 
It was her e*en sae bonnie blue. 

She talk'd, she smii*d, my heart she wyl'dl^ 
She charm*d my soul, I wist na how ; 

And ay the stound, the deadly wound. 
Cam frae her e'en sae bonnie blue. 

But spare to speak, and spare- to speed g 

She*ll aiblins listen to my vow : 
Should she refuse, IHl lay my dead 

To her twa e'en sac bonnie blue.* 

THE BANKS OF NITH, 

YMnf— « Robbie donna gorach** 

l^HE Thames flows proudly to the sea, 

Where royal cities stately stand ; 
But sweeter flows the Nith to me, 

Where Cummins ance had high comm«tfidc 
When shall I see that honor'd land, 

That winding stream I love so dear ! 
Must wayward fortune's adverse hand 

For ever, ever keep mc Iierc. - 

How lovely Nith, thy fruitful vales. 

Where spreading hawthorns gayly bloom y 

* The heroine of this aong was Miss J, of LockmabaUi' 
This lady, now Mrs. R. mfitr residing seme time in Liv 
itrpoclf is settled with her husbmnd in JVkw-Yorky Mirtth 
jfmerica, 

V 



( 218 ) 

1 loM sweetly wind thy sloping dales 

^V'h^f^e lambkins wanton thro' the broom ! 

Tho' wandtrini^, now, must be my doom, 
Far from thy bonnie banks and braes, 

May there my latest hours consume, 
Amang the friends of early days ! 

JOHN ANDERSON MY JOF 

JOHN Anderson my joe, John 

When we were first acquent ; 
Your locks were like the raven, 

Your bonnie brow was brent ; 
But now your brow is bald, John, 

Your locks are like the snaw ; 
But blessings on your frosty pow. 

John Anderson my joe. 

John Anderson my joe, John, 

We clamb the hill thegither ; 
And raony a canty day, John, 

We*ve had wi* ane anither : 
Now we maim totter down, Jolm, 

But hand in hand we'll go ; 
And sleep thegither at the foot, 

John Anderson my joe. 

P\ the first Tolumc of a collection entitled, Poetry original and 
Selected, printed by Brash and Ricd ef Glasgow, this song- is 
g^ivcn as follows : 

yohn Anderson, my joe, improved, 

BY ROBERT BURNS. 

JOHN Anderson, my joe, John, I wonder what yon mean. 
To rise so aoon in the morning-, and sit up so late at e'en, 
Yc'll blear out a' your e'en, John, and why should you do it». 
<Hng sooner to your bed at e'en, John Anderson, my joe. 

fohn Anderson, my joe, John, whan nature first beg-an 
To try her canny hand, John, her master work was man ; 
And you amang them a* John, sae trig frae tap to toe, 
She prov*d to be nae journey-work, John Anderson, my joe 

John Anderson, my joe, John, ye were my first conceit, 
And ye need nae tlunk it ttxange, Johni tho' I ca' ye trim 
ftud neat ; 



( 319 ) 

Tbo* some folk lay ye»re Aiikl, John, I never think ye so, 
13iit I tbiiik ye'rc ay the same to me, John Anderson my joe 

I >hn Anderson, my joe, John, we're seen our huirns' bairnsj 
And vet, my denr John Anderson, I'm happy in your arms, 
And sae are yc in nunc, John— -I'm sure ye'll ne'er say no, 
Tlio' [\\c da\ g urc g-ane that we have seen, JjIui Anderson, 
my joe. 

John Anderson, my joe, John, what pleasure does it gie. 
To see sae manv spn)nts, John, spring- up 'tween you an* mc, 
Ar.d ilka l;nl and lass, Jolm, in our footsteps to g^. 
Makes perfect lieaven hereon earth, John Anderson, my joe. 

yohri Anderson, my joe, y^>h.n, 'when we were firat acquatKtt 
Your locks were like the raven, your bontiie brow was brent. 
But now your head's turn'd.bald, yohn, your locks arc like the 

snow. 
Yet, blessings on your frosty pow, yohn Anderson, my joe. 
John Anderson my joe, John, frae year to year we've past, 
And soon that year maun come, John, will bring us to onjc 

last : 
But let na that affright us, John, our hearts were ne'er o^r 

foe. 
While in innocent delight we liv'd, John Anderson, my joe,. 
John Anderson, my joe, jfolm, we clamb the hill thcgither. 
And inony a canty day, yohn, we\e had wi* ane anither ; 
Now we maun totter tloivn, John, but hand in hand we'll go. 
And we'll slec/> thegither at the foot, yohn Anderson, inyj^f; 

TAM GLEJV. 

MY heart is a breaking, dear Tittie, 

Some counsel unto me come leu*, 
To anger them a* is a pity, 

But what will I do wi' Tarn GleQ. 

I'm thinking wi* sic a braw fellow, 

In poortith I might mak a fen ; 
What care I m riches to wallow. 

If I mauna marry Tarn Glen. 

There*8 Lowrie, the Laird o* Dumelley, 
" Gude day to you brute,'* he comes ben;: 

He brags and he blaws o* his siller, 
But when will he dance like Tarn Glen? 



( WO) 

My ralnnic docs constantly deave m^< 
And bids me beware o' young men, 

They flatter she says to deceive me. 
But wha can think so o* Tarn Gleft. 

My daddie says gin 1*11 forsake him, 
HcMl t^ie me gude hunder marks ten: 

But if it's ordain'd I maun tak him, 
O wha will I get but Tarn Glen. 

Yestreen at the Valentine's dealing, 
My heart to my mou gied a sten ; 

for thrice I drew ane without failing, 
And thrice it was written Tam Glen. 

The last Halloween I was waukin 
My droukit-sark sleeve, ai»'ye kert ; 

His likeness cam up the house staukin, 
And the very grey bi'eeks o' Tam Glent 

Come counsel, dear Tittie, don't tarry j 
I'll gie you my bonnie black hen, 

,X>if ye will advise me to marry 
The lad I io'e dearly, Tam Glen. 

MY TOCHEirS THE JEWEL, 

4) MEIKLE thinks my luve o* my beauty, 

But little thinks my luve o' my kin ; 
And meikle thinks my luve I ken brawlie, 

My tocher's the jewel has charms for him> 
It's u* for the apple he'll nourish the tree ; 

Its u' for the hincy he'll cherish the bee, 
My laddie's sae meikle in luve wi' the siller,, 

He can na hae luve to spare for me. 
Your proffer o' luve's an airle-penny. 

My tocher's the bargain ye wad buyj 
But an ye be crafty, I am cunnin, 

Sae ye wi* anithcr your fortune maun try. 
Ye're like to the timmer o' yon rotten wood, 

Ye're like to the bark o' yon rotten tree, 
ye'll slip frae me like a knotless thread, 

And y«*ll ©rack your credit wi' ma« nor mc. 



( 221 ) 

nmJVGUDEWIFK COUNT THE LAWIA\ 

G ANE is the day and miikH the nijjht, 
But we'll ne'er stray for faut o' li^ht, 
For ale and l)randy's stars and moon) 
And blude red wine's the rysin sun. 

Then gudciuife count the latvin^ the lawin^ the iartuuy 
Theyi gudcivife count the iatvin^ and bring a coggic mair. 

There's wealth and ea&e for gentlemen, 
And secnpk-folk maun fecht and fen; 
But liere we're a' in ae accord, 
For ilka man that's drunk's a lord. 
7'hen gudewifc count, ij'c. 

My cog^Ie is a haly pool, 
That heals the wounds o' care and dool ; 
And pleasure is a wanton trout, 
An* ye drink it a' ye'll find tiini out. 
Then gudewifc county tSc. 

WflAT CAN A YOUNG LASSIE 

Do wi* an auld Man. 

WHAT can a younj> lassie, what shall a young lassie, 
What can a young lassie do wi' an auld man I 

Bad luck on the pennie that tempted my minni« 
To sell her poor Jenny for siller an' Ian* ! 
Bfidluck on the pennie^ ijfc* 

He's always complenin frae mornin to e*enin, 

He hosts and he hirples the weary day lang ; 
He's doylit and dozin, his blude it is frozen, 

O, dreary's the night wi' a crazy auld man ! 
He hums and he hankers, he fret* and he canker]^, 

I never can please him, do a* that I can ; 
He's peevish, and jealous of a' the young feIlo\V9j 

O, dool on the day I met wi* an auld man ! 
My auld auntie Kati'i upon me taks pity, 

ril do my endeavour to follow her plan ; 
u 2 



( 2?2 ). 

\fi\ cross him, and wrack him until I heart-break hini^ 
And then his auld btass will buy me a new pam 

THE BONNIE WEE THING. 

BONNIE wee thing;, cannie wee thing. 
Lovely wee thing was thou mine : 

I wad wear thee in my bosom, 
Lest my jewel I should tine. 

Wishfully I look and lanp^uish 

In thatbonnie face of thine; 
And my heart it sounds wi* anguish, 

Lest my wee thing be na mine. 

Wit, and grace, and love, and beauty, 

In ae constellation shine ; 
To adore thee is my duty, 

Goddess o* this soul o* mine ? 
Bonnie wecy i^c. 

O, FOR ANE AND TWENTY, TAJ\|. 
7wnf— « The Moudiewort." 

An Ojfor ane and ttventy'f Tarn ! 

An hey, sweet ane and ttveuty. Turn i 
I'll learn my kin a rattlin sang, 

An 1 taw ane and twenty , Thm. 

'J'HEY snoul me sair, and baud me dowQ, 
And gar me look like bluntic, 'J'am ; 

But three short years will soon wheel rouix'j 
And then comes ane and twenty, Tam. 
An O, for anr, is^c, 

A gleib o' Ian. a claut o* gear, 

Was left me by my auntie, TailH j 

At kith or kin I need na spier, 
An I saw ane and twenty, Tan|>» 
An Of fur a«o tfc. 



( 223 ) 

They'll hae me wed a wealthy coot", 
Thi)' I niyael hae plenty, Tarn, 

But hear'st thou, laddie, tlierc's my loat, 
Vm thine at ane and twenty, Tarn ! 
Jn Oj/or ane, i^e. 

BESS AND HER SPINNLNfG WHEEL. 

O LEEZE me on my spinnin-wheel, 
O leeze me on my rock, and reel ; 
Frae tap to tae that deeds me biefi^ 
And haps me fiel and warm at e*en ! 
1*11 set mc down and sinjj and spin, 
While laigh descends the aimmer sun, 
Blest wi' content, and milk and meal — 
O leeze me on my spinnin-wheel. 
On ilka hand the burnics trot. 
And meet below my theckit cot : 
The scented birk and hawthorn whit© 
Across the pool their arms unite, 
Alike to screen the birdie's nest, 
And little fishes caller rest : 
The sun blinks kindly in the biel*, 
Where, blythe I turn my spinnin wh^. 

On lofty aiks the cu«^hats wail, 
And echo cons the dolefu' tale ; 
The lintwhites in the hazel brae*i, 
Delij^hted rival ither's lays : 
The craik amang tlie clover hay, 
The paitrick whirrin o'er the lea. 
The swallow jinkin round my shiel, 
Amuse me at my spinnin wheel. 

Wi* sma* to sell and less to buy, 
Aboon distress, below envy, 
O wha wad leave this humble state, 
For a* the pride of a' tl-e great ? 
Amid their flaring, idle toys, 
Amid their cumb'rous dinsome joy«. 
Can they the peace and pleasure feel 
Of Bessy at her spionin wheel ! 



C 224 ) 

COUNTRY LASSIE. 

IN simmer when the hay was mawu, 

And corn wavM green in ilka field, 
While clover blooms white o*erthe lea< 

And roses blaw in ilka bield ; 
Blythe Bessie in the milking shiel, 

Says I'll be wed come o't what will ; 
Out spak a dame in wrinkled eild, 

O* gude advisement comes nae ill. 

It's ye hae wooers mony ane, 

And lassie ye'ie but young ye ken ; 
Then wait a wee, and caimie wale, 

Arouthie butt, a routhieben: 

There's Johnie o' the Buskie-glen, 

^ Fu' is his barn, fu' is his byre ; 

Takthis frae me, my bonnie hen, 

It*s plenty beets the lover's fire. 
For Johnie o* the Buskie glen, 

I dinna care a single flie ; 
He loes sae weel his craps and kye 

He has nae love to spare for me : 
But blythc's the blink o' Robie's e'e, 

And weel I wat he lo'es me dear : 
Ac blink o* him T wad na gie 

For Buskie-glen and a' his gear. 

O thoughtless lassie, life's a faught, 

The canniest gate, the strife is sair ; 
But ay fu' han't is fechtin best, 

A hungry care's ^n unco care : 
But some will spend* and some will spare, 

An* wilfu' folk maun hae their will ; 
Syne as ye brew, mv maiden fair, 

Keep mind that ye maun drink the yill. 

O gear will buy me rigs o' land. 

And gear will buv me sheep and kye ; 

But the tender heart o' leesome love, 
The gowd and siller canna buy : 



f 9^5 ) 

-. We may be poor Robie and I, 

Light is the burden love lays cm t 
Content and love brings peace and joy t 
What mair hae queens upon a throne t 

TAIR ELIZA. A GALLIC Allt 

TURN aQ:ain thou fair Eliza, 

Ae kind blink before we part, 
Look on thy despairing lover ! 

Canst thou break his faithfu* heart ! 
Tilrn again thou fair Eliza ; 

If to love thy heart denies, 
For pity hide the cruel sentence 

Under friendship*s kind disguise ! 

Thee, dear maid, have I offended ? 

The offence is liij'hig thee : 
•Canst thou wreck his peace for evei5, 

Wha for thine wad gladly die ! 
While the life beats in my bosorn, 

Thou shalt mix in ilka throe : 
Turn again thou lovely maiden, 

Ae sweet smile on me bestow. 

Not the bee upon the blossom, 

In the pride o* sinny noon ; 
Not the little sporting fairy, 

All beneath the simmer moon ; 
Not the poet in the moment 

Fancy lightens on his e'e, 
Kens the pleasure, feels the rapture 

Thai thy presence gies to me. 

THE POSIE. 

O LUVE will venture in, where it daur na wcel be 

seen, 
O luve will venture in where wisdom ance has been ; 
But I will down yon river rove, amang the wood sae 
green, 
And a* to pu* a posic to my ain dear May. 



(.236 y 

Tfie primrose I will pu*, the firstling o* the year, 
And J will pu' the pink, the emblem o* my dear, 
For she's the pink o* womankind, and blooms without^ 
a peer, 
And a' to be a posie to my ain dear May. 

I'll pu* the buddinpj rose, when Phoebus peeps in view, 
For it's hke a bauiny kiss o' her sweet bonnie moii ; 
The hyacinth's for constancy wi* its unchanc^ing blue, 
And a' to be a posie to my ain dear May. 

The lily it is pure, and the lily it is fair, 
And in her loveiy bosom, I'll place the lily there : 
TIk' daisy's for simplicity and unaflected air, 
And a' to be a posie to my ain dear May. 

The hawthorn I will pu*. with its locks o' siller grey^, 
Where like an a^ed man, it stands at break o* day. 
But the songster's nest within the bush, I winna tal^ 
away ; 
And a' to be a posie to my ain dear May. 

The woodbine I will pu% when the e'ening star is near, _ 
And the diamond-draps o' dew shall be her e'en sap 

clear ; 
The violft's for modesty which weel she sets to wear, 

And a' to be a posie to my ain dear May. 
I'll tie the posie round wi* a silken band o* luve. 
And I'll place it in her breast, and 1*11 swear by a* 

above. 
That to my latest draught o* life the band shall ne*e5 
remuve, 
And this will be a posie to my ain dear May. 

THE BJJVKS O' DOOJ\r. 

YE banks and braes o* bonnie Doon, 
How can ye bloom sae fresh and fair ? 

How can ye chant, ye little birds; 
And I sae weaiy, fu* o' care ! 

Thou'll bieak my heart thou warbling bir4> 
That wantons thro* the flowering thorwj 



( 22r ) 

Thou minds me o* departed joys, 
Departed never to return. 

Oft hae I rov'd by bonnie Doon, 

To see the rose and woodbine t^un€ ■■ 
And ilka bird sang o' its hjve, 

And fondly sae did I o' mine. 
Wi' lightsome heart I pud a rose, 

Fu* sweet upon its thorny tree ; 
And my fause luver stole my rose. 

But ah ! he left the thorn wi' me. 

SIC A WIFE JiS WILLIE HJD. 

WILLIE Wastle dwalt on Tweed. 

The spot they ca'd it Linkumdoddi«, 
Willie was a wabster gude, 

Cou'd stown a clue wi* ony body ; 
He had a wife was dour and din, 

O Tinkler M adgie was her mither ; 

Sic a wife a.t Willie had, 
Iwadna gie a button for her. 

She has an e*e, she has but ane, 
The cat has twa the very colour ; 

Five rusty teeth forbye a stump, 

A clapper tongue wad deave a miller ; - 

A whiskin beard about her mou, 

Her nose and chin they threaten ither » 
Sic a vnfe^ isfc. 

She's bow-hough*d, she's hein shinn'd, 
Ae limpin leg a hand-breed shorter! 

She's twisted right, she's twisted left, 
To balance fair in ilka quarter : 

She has a hump upon her breast, 
The twin o* that upon her shouthw; 
Sic a 7wy>, 45'c. 

Auld baudrans by the ingle sits. 

An* wi' her loof her face a washin; 

But Willie's wife is nae sae trig. 
She dights her grunzie wi* a hushion^ 



( J28 ) 

jier walie nicves like midden-creels, 
Her face wad fyle tke Logan water; 
Sic a •tvi/e as Willit had, 
I wad na gie a button for her. 

GLOOMY DECEMBER. 

ANCE mair I hail thee, thou gloomy Decemfterl 

Ance mair I hail thee wi' sont>w and care ; 
Sad was the parting thou makes me remember, 

Parting wi* Nancy, Oh 1 ne*er to meet mair. 
Fond lovers parting is sweet painful pleasure, 

Hope beaming mild on the soft parting hour ; 
But the dire feeling, OfareiveUfor ever,, 

Is anguish unmingl'd and agony pure. 
Wild as the winter now tearing the forest, 

'Till the last leaf, o* the summer is flown» 
Such is the tempest has shaken my bosom, 

Since my last hope and last comfort is gone j 
Still as I hail thee thou gloomy December, 

Still shall I hail thee wi* sorrow and care ; 
For sad was the parting thou makes me rememb«r, 

PfU'ting wi* Nancy, Oh, ne'er to meet mair. 

£rA^r Bji^vKS. 

SLOW spreads the gloom my soul dc8ire% 
The sun from India's shore retires ; 
To Evan banks, with template ray 
Home of my youth, it leads the day. 
O I banks to me for ever dear ! 
Oh! stream whose murmurs ^till I heart 
All, all my hopes of bliss reside, 
Where Evan mingles with the Clyde. 

And she in simple beauty drest. 
Whose image lives within my breast ; 
Who trembling heard my parting sigh, 
And long pursu'd me with her eye ! 
Does she, with heart unchanged as mine* 
Oft in the vocal bowers recline ? 



( ^29 ) 

Or where yon grot o'erhangs the tide, 
Muse while the Evan seeks the Clyde. 

Ye lofty hanks that Evan boond 1 

Ve luvisli woods that wave around, 

And o'er the stream your shadows throw. 

Which sweetly winds so far below; 

What secret cbarm to meni'ry brings. 

All that on Evan's border sprinj^s? 

Sweet banks ! ye bloom by Mary's side : 

Blest stream ! she views thee haste to Clyd«. 

Can all the wealth of India's coast 
Atone for years in absence lost? 
Return, ye moments of delight, 
With richer treasures bless my sight! 
Swift from this desert let me part, 
And fly to meet a kindred iieart ! 
Nor more may aught my steps divide 
From that dear stream which flows to Clyde. 

WILT THOU BE MY DEjiRIE, 

WILT thou be my dearie? 

Wlien sorrow wrings thy gentle heai^, 
O wilt thou let me cheer thee; 

33y the treasure of my soul, 
And that's tl»c love I hear thee I 

I swear and vow that only thofl, 
Shall ever be my dearie. 

Only thou I swear and vow. 

Shall ever be my dearie. 

Lacsic say thou lo'es me ; 

Or if, tliou wilt na be my am, 
Say na thou'lt refuse me: 

If it winna, canna be, 
Th.ou, for thine, may chuse me : 

Let me, lassie, quickly die. 
Trusting that thou lo'es me. 

Lassie, let me quickly die, 

Trusting that thou lo'es tne. 



C 230 ) 
^/I£*S FAIR AJ^D FAUSK. 

i 

she's fair and fause that causes my smart, 

I lo'ed her meikle and lang ; 
Shc*s broken her vow, she's broken my heart 

And I may e'en gae hang. 
A coof cam in wi' rowth o' gear, 
And 1 hae tint my dearest dear, 
But woman is but war id's gear, 

Sae let the bonnie lassie gang, 

Whae'er ye be that woman love. 

To this be never blind, 
Nae ferlie 'tis tho* fickle she prove, 

A woman has't by kind : 
O woman, lovely, woman fair; 
An angel form's faun to thy share, 
*Twad been o'ermeikle to gien thee mair, 

I mean an angel mind. 

aftojY water, 

^LO W gently sweet Afton among the green braes. 
Flow gently, I'll sing thee a song in thy praise ; 
My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream, 
b'low gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream. 

Thou stock (^ove whose echo resounds thro' the glen, 
Ve wild whistling blackbirds in yon thorny den. 
Thou green crested lap^ving thy screaming forbear, 
I charge you disturb not my slumbering fair. 

flow lofty, sweet Afton, thy neighbouring hills. 
Far mark'd with the courses, of clear, winding rills ; 
f here daily I wander as noon rises high. 
My flocks and my Mary's sweet cot in my eye. 

How pleasant thy banks and green vallies below, 
Where wild in the woodland's the primroses bk)W; 
There oft as mild evening weeps over the lea, 
The sweet scented birk shades my Mary and me. 

Thy chrystal stream, Afton, how lovely it glides. 
And winds by the cot where tny Mary rcsWcr, ; 



(. 231 ) 

How. wanton thy waters her snowy feet lave, 
As gath'ring sweet flow rets she stems thy clear wave,. 
Flow gently, sweet Afton among thy sweet braes, 
Flow gently, sveet river, the theme of my lays: 
My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream, 
Flow gently sweet Afton, disturb not her dream. 

nOA^.YIE BELL. 

THE smiling spring comes in rejoicing, 

And surly winter grnnly flies'. 
Now chrystal clear are the falling waters^ 

And bonnie blue arc' the sunny skies j 
Fresh o'er the mountains breaks fortli the movnin*g, 

The ev'ning gilds the ocean's swell ; 
All creatures joy in the sun's returning. 

And J^ rejoice in my bonnie Hell. 

The flow'ry spring leads sunny summer, 

And yellow autumn presses near, 
Then in his turn comes gloomy winter, 

'Till smiling spring again appear. 
Thus seasons dancing, life advancing, 

Old lime and nature their changes tell^ 
But never ranging, still unchanging 

I adore my bonnie Bell. 

THE GALLAKT WEAVETt. 

WHERE Cart rins rowjn to the sea, 
By mony a flow'r and spreading tree, 
There lives a lad, the lad lor me, 
He is a gallant weaver. 

O I had Avooers aught or nine, 
They gied m^ rings and ribbons liue ; 
And I was fear*d my heart would tine^ 
And I gied it to the weaver. 

My daddie sign'd my tocher-band 
To gie the lad thiat has the land. 



( 232 ) 

But to my heart I'll add my liand; 
And gie it to the weaver. 

While birds rejoice in leafy bowers ; 
While bees deli(2:ht in opening flowers ; 
While con^ grows green in simmer showei* 
I'll love my gallant weaver.* 

LOUIS WHAT RECK I BY TIJEE. 

LOUIS what reck I by liiee. 

Or Geoiuie on liis otcan; 
Dyvors, beggar lonns to me, 

I reign in Jeaiiic's !)osr>i4-i. 

Let her crown iny love her law, 
And in her bi'east enthrone \xi^ 

Kings and nations, swift awa 1 
Rief randies I disown ye ! 

FOR THE >^JKE: QE mMEBODY. 

IVIY heart is sair, I dare na t(^ll, 

My heart is sair for somebody ; 
I could wake a winter night, 
For the sake of s smebody. 
Oh-hon I for s(>)iiebody ! 
Oh-hey! for somclDocly ! 
1 could raui^e ihe woiid around, 
For the sake o' somebody. 

Ye powers that smile on virtuous love, 

O, sweetly smile on somebody ! 
Frae ilka danger keep him free, 
And send me safe my somebody. 
Oh-hon for somebody ! 
Oh-hey for somebody I 
I wad do— what wad I not. 
For the sake o* somebody. 

* In 90tn€ Editions Sailor /•<? ,substti(uicdfor weaver 



( 233 ) 

THE LO VKL Y L^SS OF IjYF£JiAESS, 

THE lovely lass o* Inverness, 

Nae joy nor pleasure can she see; 
For e'en and morn she cries, alas ! 

And ay the saut tear blins her c'e : 
Drumosie moor, Drumosie day, 

A waefu* day it was to me ; 
For there I lost my father dear, 

My father dear and brethren three. 

Their winding sheet the bludy clay, 

Their graves are growing green to |»ee i 
And by them lies the dearest lad 

That ever blest a woman's e'e! 
Now wae to thee thou cruel lord, 

A bludy man I trow thou be ; 
For mony a heart thou hast made sair, 

That ne'er did wrong to thine or thee. 

A mother* 8 Lament for the Death of her Swi 
Tune — ^" FiNLAYSTON House.*' 

FATE gave the word, the arrow sped*. 

And pierc'd my darling's heart : 
And with him all the joys are i]ed 

Life can to me impart. 
By cruel hands the sapliiig drops. 

In dust dishonor'd laid : 
So fell the pride of all my hopc€^ 

My age's future shade. 

The mother linnet in the brake 

Bewails her ravish'd young ; 
So I, for my lost darling's sake;, 

Lament the live-day long. 
Death oft I fear'd thy fatal blow^ 

Now, fond I bare my breast, 
O, do thou kindly lay me Io>vs 

With him I love, at rest. 



( 234 ) 

O MAY^ THY MORA.. 

^ MAY, thy morn, was ne*er sae swcei. 
As the mirk night o' December : 

For sparkling was the rosy wine, 
And private was the chamber : 

And dear was slie I dare na name, 
But I will ay remember. 
And dra?% ks^c. 

And here's to them, that, like oursel, 

Can push about the jorum ; 
And here's to them, that wish us weel, 

May a' that's gude watch o'er them ;> 
And here's to tliem, we dare na tell. 

TJie dearest o'the quorum. 



O WAT YE WHA*SIJ>rYOjYDER TOWA\ 

O WAT ye wha's in yonder town, 

Ye see the e'enin sun upon, 
The fairest dame's in yonder town, 

That e'enin sun is shining on. 
Now haply down yon gay green shaw : 

She wanders by yon spreading tree, 
How blest ye flow'rs that round lier bla,w, 

Ye catch the glances o' her e'e. 
How blest ye birds that round her sing> 

And welcomes in the blooming year. 
And doubly wc'i onie be tlie spring, 

The season lo my Lucy dear. 

The sun blinks blythe on yonder town, 
And on yon honnie brnes of Ayr; 

But my delight's in yonder town, 
And dearest bliss is Lucy fair. 

Without my love, not a' the charms,, 

O' paradise could yield me joy ; 
But gie mc Lucy in my arms, 

And welcome Lapland's dreary sky 



( 235 ) 

My cave wad be a lover's bowci^, 

Tho* raging winter rent the air | 
And she a lovely little flower, 

That I wad tent and shelter there. 

sweet is she in yonder town, 

Yon sinkin sun's gane down upon ;• 
A fairer than'b in yonder town, 

His setting beam ne'er shone upon. 

If angry fate is sworn tny foe, 

And suffering I am doom'd to bear ; 

1 careless quit aut^ht else below, 

But spare me, spare me, Lucy dear. 

For while life's clearest blood is warm, 
Ae thouglit frae her shall ne'er depart, 

And she — as fairest is her form ! 
She has the truest, kindest heart.* 

A RED, RED ROSE. 

O MY hive's like a red, red rosf,. 
That's newly sprung in June> 

my luve's like the melodic 
That's sweetly play'd in tunc. 

As fair art thou, my bonnie lass, 

So deep in luve am I : 
And I will luve thee still, my dear; 

'Till a' the seas gang dry. 

'Till a* the seas gang dry, my dear, 
And the rocks melt wi' the sun : 

1 will luve thee still, my dear, 

While the sands o' life ahallrun. 

And fare thee well, my only luve! 
And fare thee weel awhile 1 

* The heroine of this song^ Mrs. (formerly J^'UsS 
X. J.) died lately at Lisbon. This most accomfilished and 
wost lovely ivoman^ ivas worthy of this beautiful strain, 
of sensibility^ which idHI convey some impression of hpf 
attractions to other generations* 



( 236 ) 

And I will come again, my luve, 
Tho* it were ten thousand milCi 



A VISION. 

AS I stood by yon roofless tower, 

Where the wa'-flower scents the dewy ah\ 
Where th* howlet mourns in her ivy bower, 

And tells the midnight moon her care. 
The winds were laid, the air was still, 

The stars they shot alang the sky j 
The fox was howling on the hill, 

And the distant-echoing glens reply; 

The stream, adown its hazely path, 
Was rushing by the ruin'd wa's, 

• Hasting to join the sweeping Nith, 
Whase distant roaring swells and faV 

The cauld blae north was streaming fort^ 
Her lights, wi* hissing eerie din ; 

Athortthe lift they start and shift, 
Like fortune's favours, tint as win. 

t By heedless chance I turn'd mine eye^ 
And, by the moon-beam, shook, to sec 

A stern and stalwart ghaist arise, 
Attir'd as minstrels wont to be. 

Had I a statue been o' starie. 

His darin look, had daunted me ; 

And on his bonnet grav*d was plaii\, 
The sacred posy— Liberty ! 

And frae his harp sic strains did flow, 

Might rousM the shimb'ring dead to hear^' 

But oh, it was a tale of woe, 
As ever met a Briton's ear ! 

* Variation. To JQin yon river on the Stralli^, 
t VaHation. JVow looking overjlrth andfaulds 
Hf.r horn the fialc'fac^d Cynthia rear*d ; 
IVherif /o, inform, of minstrel auldy 
A ^tern and stulwart ghiist a/ifiear*<^ 



( 2^r ) ^ 

Hfe sang wi' joy his former day, 

He weepini^ wail'd his latter times ^ 
But what he said it was nae play, 
I winna ventur't in my rhymes.* 

TIIE following poems, found among the MSS. of Mn. 
Burns, aj'e now, for the h\bi time, presented to the 
Public. 



COPY OF A POETICAL ADDRESS 

Jb Mr. William Tytler, tviih the firescnt of the dai(fs 
flic lure. 

REVERED defender of beauteous Stuart, 

Of Stu.irt a name once respected, 
A name which to love was the mark of a true heaN,, 

Bui now 'tis despisM and neglected : 

Tho' something like moisture ongiobes in my eye, 

Lei no one misdeem me disloyal : 
A poor friendless wandVer may well claim a sigh, 

Still more, if liiat wand'rer were royal. 

My fiithers, that name have rever'd on a throne ; 
My fathers have fallen to right it ; 

* This poem an Imfierfict cofiy ofivhixh was fi^f.ntedin 
John8on*s Musnnn. is here ^iven from the fioet*9 MSS^ 
ivith Ids last cor rcctionr.. The scenery so finely describ- 
ed is taken from natiire. The fioet is supposed to be mu» 
tin^^ bij night on the banks of the river Cluden, and by the 
rniiia of Lincludcn' Abbey., founded in the tioelfth century^ 
in therei^n of Malcolm IV. of whose present situation the 
reader may find some account in Fennant*s tour in Scot' 
land, or Grose^s antiquities of that division of the island. 
Such a time and such a place are ivell fitted for holding 
ronvcrs:' ivith arial beings. Though this poem has a pol' 
itical :ius, yet it may be preswned that no reader of taste ^ 
nvhaiecer his ojiiniont may be, ivould forgive its being o* 
mttcd. 



( 238 ) 

I'hose fathers would spurn their dcf3fcncratc son, 
That name sljould be scoffin^Iy slightit. 

Still in prayers for K — (I — - I mopt lieartily join, 

I )v< Q — , and the rest of the .q;entry, 
Ik they wise, be they foolish, is nothing of mine ; 

Tiicir title's avowM by my country. 

But why of that tpocha make such a fuss, 

But loyally truce ! we're on dangjerotis groundi^ 
Who knows how the fashions m;\y alter, 

The doctrine, to-<lay, that is loyalty soun(|^ 
To-morron^ may brin^ir \is a halter. 

I send you a trifle, a head of a bard, 

A trifle scarce worthy your care ; 
But arcept it, good sir, as a mark of rogartl, 

Sincere as a saint's dying prayer. 

Now life's chilly evening dim shades on your e)fj^, 

And UKher's the long dreary night : 
But you like the .star tliat athwart gilds the sky, 

Your course to the laU-sl is bright. 

My muse jilted me here, and turned a corner on fb^ 
and 1 have not got again into hei good graces^ Do me 
the justice to btdicve me sincere in my grateful remem- 
brance of the many civilities you have honoured mc 
with since I came to Edinburgh, and in assuring yQ,u 
that I have the hoiior to be 

■Revered Sir, 

Your obliged, and very humble Servntjjl, 

R. BURNS. 
l':Tiinl>iir^(r/i, 1787.. 



•( 239 ) 

CALEDONIA. 
Tune— *' CALEDONIAN hunt's delight.** 

rHERE was once a day, but old Time then was young, 

That brave Caledonia, the chief of her line, 
From some of your northern deities sprunj;;, 
^ (Who knows not tiiat brave Qaledoniu's divine ?) 
From Tweed to the Orcades was her domain, 

To hunt, or to pasture, or do what she would : 
Her heavenly relations there fixed her reig^n, 

And pledj^ed their godheads to warrant it good. 
A lambkin in peace, but a lion in w ir, 

The pride of her kindreti, the heroine p^rew: 
Her j^randsire, old Odin, triumphantly swore, — 

Whoe'er shall provoke thee th' cncountei sliall rue I** 
With tillaq^c or pasture at times she would sport. 

To feed her fair flocks by her ^reen rustliiM^ corn 
But chiefly the woods were her fav'ilte resort, 

Her darlinpj amusement, the hounds and the horn. 

Lout*; quiet she reij^ncd! till thitherward steers 

A flij^ht of bold eagles from Xdria's strand :* 
llep'jated successive for many long years. 

They darkened the air and they phmdcrM the hnd; 
Their pounces were murder, and terror their cry, 

Tiicy conquerM and r\iin*d a world beside : 
She took to her hills and her arrows let fly, 

The daring invariers tliey fled or they died. 

The fell Ivirpy-raven took wing from the north, 

The scourge of the seas an<l the dread of the shore ;t 
The wild Scandinavian boar it^sued forth 

To waf)ton in carnage and wallow in gore :\ 
<)*er country and kingdoms their fury p'evail'd, 

No arts could appease them, no aims could repel; 
liut brave Caledonia in vani they assail'd, 

As Largs well can witness, and Loncartic tell.§ 

* 77ir Pomnna. \ The Saxorts, \ The Danes, 
§ Tiuo famous- battles in v^hiph the Darns or N{yrn\}»> 
^iiinn were defenlaf. 



( 340 ) 

The Caraelcon-savage disturbM her repose, 

With tumult disquiet, rebellion and strife; 
ProvokM bcyoiul bearing, at last she arose, 

And robbM him at once of his hopes and hi? life :* 
The Anglian lion the terror of France, 

Oft prowling ensanguin'd the Tweed's silver flood; 
But taught by the bright Caledonian lance, 

He learned to fear m his own native wood. 

Thus bold, independent, unconquer'd and free, 

Her bright course of glory for ever shall run : 
'For brave Caledonia immortal r»mst be; 

I'll prove it from Euclid as clear as the suil': 
JRectane:le-triangle, the figure we'll chuse, 

The upright is Chance, and old time is the base 
But brave Caledonia's the hypotenuse ; 

Then ergo she'll match them) and match them air- 
ways, t 

THE FOLLOWING POEM 

Was ftritfen to a Gentleman ivho had sent him a «r?t'^* 
fiafier, avd offered to continue it free ofex/iense. 

KIND Sir, I've read your paper through, 
And faith to me 'twas really new ! 
How guessed ye. Sir, what maist I wanted t 
This mony a day I've grain'd and gaunted,, 
To ken what French mischief was breWin 
Or what the druralie Dutch were doin : 
That vile doup-skelper, Emperor Joseph,, 
If Venus yet had got his nose off; 
Or how the collishangie works 
Atween the Russians and the Turks ; 



# 



The Highlanders of the isles. 
t This singular figure offioetry taken from the mathe- 
•natics^ refers to the famous firofiosition of Pythagoras^ 
the A7 th oj Euclid. In a right-angled triar.gle^ the square 
of the hyfiotenuse is always er/ual to the squares cf th9 
two otiier »ide». 



( 241 ) 

Or if the Swede, before he- halt, 

Would play anithcr CJiaiies tlie twalt : 

If Denmark, ony body spak o't ; 

Or Poland, wha had now ihe lack o't : 

How ciit-tliioai I'russian blades were hin^jin . 

How libbet Italy was singin : 

If Spaniard. Porlugucsc, or Swiss, 

Were sayin or lakin aught amiss : 

Or how our merry lads at hame, 

In Britain's court kept \»j) the jjjame : 

How Royal (ieorge, the Lord Icuk o*cr him ! 

Was manajjjing St. Stephen's cuionim-; ' 

If sleekit Chatham Will was livin, 

Or glaikit Charlie got his nicve in ; 

How daddie Burke the plea was cookin, 

If Warren Hastings* neck was yeukin ; 

How cesses, stents, and fees were rax'd, 

Or if bare a — s yet were tax*d ; 

The news o* princes, dukes and earls. 

Pimps, sharpers, bawds and opera-girls ; 

If that daft buckie, Gcordie W***s, 

Was Ihreshin still at hizzics tails. 

Or if he was grown aughthns douscr, 

And no a perfect kintra cooser. 

A' this and mair I never heard of; 

And but for you I might despaii-'d of; 

So gratefu' back your news I send yoUj 

And pray a' gude things may attend you I 

FAlinland^ Monday morning^ 1790. 

POEM ON PA&TORAL POETRY. 

HAIL Po'-sie ! thou Nymph reserv'd ; 
In chase o' tliee, what crouds hae swerv*d 
Frae common sense, or sunk enervM 

'Mang heaps o' ciaveri ; 
And och I o'er aft thy joes hae starv'd, 

Mid a' thy favours ! 

Say, Lassie, wJiy thy train amang, 
While loud, the trump's heroic clan^, 

Y 



( 242 ) 

And sock or buskin skelp alang 

To death or marriage^ 
Scarce ane has try*d the shepherd-sang 

But wi' miscarriage ! 
In Homer's craft Jock Mi. ton thrives, 
Eschylus' pen, Will Shakespeare drives : 
Wee Pope, the knurlin, *till hrni rives 

Horatian Fame; 
In thy sweet sang, Barbauld. survives 

Evcji Sappho's flame. 

But thee, Theocrites, wha matches ? 
They're no herd's ballats, Maro's catches ; 
Squire Pope but busks his skinklin patches 

O' heathen tatters : 
I pass by hunders, nameless wretches, 

That ape their betters. 

In this braw age o' wit and lear, 
Will nane the Shepherds' whistle mair 
Blaw sweetly in its native air 

And rural grace ; 
And wi' the far lam'd Grecian share 

A rival place ? 

Yes I there is ane ; a Scottish callan ! 
There's ane j come forrit, honest Allan ! 
Thou need na jouk behint the hallan, 

A chiel sae clever ; 
The teeth o* time may gnaw Tatntallan, 

But thou's for ever. 

Thou paints auld nature to the nines, 

In thy sweet Caledonian Urns; 

Nae gowden stieam thro* myrtles twines, 

Where PhilomeU 
While nightly breezes sweep the vines, 

Her griefs will tell ! 
In gowany glens -thy burnie strays, 
Where bonnie lasses bleach their clacs I 



( 243 ) 

Ok trots by hazelly shaws and braes, 

Wi* hawthorns f^ray, 
Where blackbirds join the shepherd's lays- 

At close o* day. 
Thy rural loves are nature's sel i 
Nat' lx»mbast spates o* nonsense swell ; 
Nac snap conceits, but that sweet spell 

O* witchin love, 
That charm that can the strongest quell. 

The sternest niove. 

ON THE BATTLE OF SHERIFF-MUIR, 
Between the Duke of Argyle and the Earl cf Mar. 

<* O CAM ye here the fight to shun, 

*' Or herd the sheep wi' me, man ? 
*< Or war ye at the Sherra-muir, 

" An* did the battle see man I" 
I saw the battle, sair and teugh. 
And rckin red ran mony a sheugh, 
My heart, for fear gaed sough for sough, . 
To hear the thuds, and sec the duds 
O' clans frae woods, in tartan duds, 

Wha glaum'd at kingdoms three, man. 
The led-coat lads wi' black cockades 

To meet them were na slaw, man ; 
They rush'd and pushM, and blude outgushd*, 

And mony a bouk did fa', man : 
The great Argyle led on his tiles, 
I wat they glanced twenty miles ; 
They h.xk'd and hash'd while broad swords clash'd. 
And thro' ihey dash'd, and hew'd and smash'd. 

Till fey men died awa, man. 
But had you seen the phiiibegs, 

And skyrin tartan trews, man, 
When in the teeth they dar'd our whigs 

And covenant true blues, man ; 
In lines extended iang and largc, 
When bayonets oppos'd the targ,e, 



» 



( 244 ) 

And tliOii3and3 hasten'd to the charge, 
Wi* llif^hland wrath they frae the shcatii 
Prtv/ blades o* death *till, outo' breath, 

Tlicylk'd like tVii;htcd does, man. 
*' O ijo'.v did Tarn can that be true ? 

*' 'llu: chase gaed frac the noith, mans 
" I sri\v myself, they did pursue 

*• The horsemen back to Forth, man } 
'" And at Dunblane, in my ain sifjht, 
** They tcok tl)e bri^ wi* a' their mi>]jht, 
f' And slraught to Stiilin}* wing*d their flight; 
" But cvH^sed lot } the gates were shut; 
" And mony a huntit, poor red-cout 
^' For fttar amaist did swaif, man." 

My sister Kate cam up tlie gate 

Wi* crowdie unto me, man : 
She swoic she sav/ some rebels run 

Frac Perth unto Dundee, man : 
Thc'r lett-JuUid geacral had nae skill, 
The Angus lads had naj ijood will 
That day their necbors b!ood to spill ; 
For fear, by foes, that they «liouId !os(j 
Their cogs o* brose ; all crving woes, 

And so it goes, you see, man ; 
They've lost some gallant gentlemen^ 

Amiuig the Highlaml clans, man; 
I fear my lord Panmure is slain. 

Or fali'n in whiggish IuuuIb, man : 
Now wad ye sing this doubie fight, 
Some f«Il for wrang, and some for right -j 
But mony bade the world gude night ; 
Then ye may tell, how pcil and mcll. 
By red claymores and musket's knell, 
Wi* dying yell the tories fell, 

And whigs to hell did tlee, man.* 

This ivaa ivritten about the time our bard n^de hi* 



ti/ur to the Hi^hlandsy 1787. 



( 245 ) 

SKETCH. NEW YEAR'S DAy. 

To Mra Dir?h/i. 

THIS clay, Time winds th* exhausted chain 
To run the twelvcmontli*s length again : — 
I sec the old, bakl-pated fellow, 
With ardent eyes, complexion sallow, 
Adjust the unimpair'd machine, 
To wheel the equal, dull routine. 

The absent lover, minor heir, 
In vain assail him with their prayer. 
Deaf as my friend, he sees thetn press, 
Nor makes the hour one moment less. 
Will you (the Major's with the liounds. 
The happy tenants share his rounds ; 
Coila*s fair Rachers care to-day,* 
And blooming Keith's enga^'d with Gray ;) 
From housewife cares a minute borrow — 
— That grandchild's cap will do to-morrow — 
And join me with a moralizing, 
This day's propitious to be wise in. 
First, what did yesternight deliver ? 
*' Another year is gone forever," 
And what is this day's strong suggestion ? 
** The passing moment's all we rest on 1" 
Rest on — for what ? what do we here ? 
Or why regard the passing year ? 
Will time, amus'd with proverb'd lore, 
Add to our date one minute more ? 
A few days may — a few years must*— 
Repose us in the silent dust. — 
Then is it wise to damp our bliss ? 
Yes — all such rea-ionings are amiss ! 
The voice of nature loudly cries. 
And many a message from the skies 
That something in us never dies : 
• T/iia youfi^ lady ivaa draiving a flictur^ nf Cdi'tk 
^om the vifticn, 

t 2 



1 



( 246 ) 

That on this frail uncertain state. 

Hang matters of eternal weight : 

That future-life in worlds unknown 

Must take its hue from this alone j 

Whether as heavenly glory bright, 

Or dark as misery's woeful night — 

Since then, my honor'd, first of friendsv 

On this poor being all depends ; 

Let us th* important noiv employ ' 

And live as those who never die, 

Tho* you, with days and honors crowned, 

Witness that filial circle round, 

(A sight life's sorrow's to repulse, 

A sight pale envy to convulse) 

Others now claim your chief regard; 

Yourself, you wait your bright reward. 

EXTEMPORE. 

On the late Mr. William Smdlie^ author of the Philoso- 
fihy of Katural History^ and member of the Antique.* 
rian and Royal Societies of Edinburgh, 

To Crochallan came* 
The old cock'd hat, the grey surtout, the same ; 
His bristling beard just rising in its might, 
'Twas four long nights and days to shaving-night, 
His uncomb'd grizzly locks wild staring, thatch*d, 
A head for thought profound and clear, unmatch'd, 
Yet tho' his caustic wit was biting, rude. 
His heart was warm, benevolent and good. 

♦ Mr. Smeliir, and our poet ^ vfere both memhei-9 of a cluh 
in Edinburgh, under t^e name of CrochtiUan Fencibki. M^, 



( 247 ) 
POETICAL IMSCniFTIOJ^, FOR 

AN ALTAR TO IxSDEPENDENC E, 

j(t Kerrouchtry^ the seat of Mr, Herorij written in. 
Summer 1795. 

THOU of an indepeiiflent mind 
With soul resolv'd, with soul resi^nM ; 
PreparM power*s proudest frown to brave^ 
Who wilt not be. nor have a slave; 
Virtue alone who dost revere, 
Thy own reproach alone dost fear, 
Approach this shrine, and worship here. 



} 



soj\rj\rjET, ojythe death of mr, riddel. 

NO more, ye warblers of the wood, no more, 
Nor pour your descant grating on my ear : 
Thou youn^.eyed spring, thy charms I cannot bear; 

More welcome were to me grim winter's wildest roar. 

How can ye please, ye flowers, with all your dyes ? 
Ye blow upon the sod that wraps my friend : 
How can I to the tuneful strain attend ? 

That strain pours round th' untimely tomb where Rid- 
del lies.* 

MONODY, 

On a Lady famed for her Cafirice. 

HOW cold is that bosom which folly once fired, 
How pale is that cheek where the rouge lately glis- 
tened ; 

How silent that tongue which the echoes oft tired, 
How dull is that ear which to flattery so listened. 

If sorrow and anguish their exit await, 

From friendship and dearest affection removed ; 

* Robert Riddel^ Esq. qf Friars* Carse^ a very worthy 
character^ and one to whom otm hard thought himself ufi^ 
iter many obligations. 



( 248 ) 

How doubly severer, Eliza, thy fate, 

Thou ditdst unwept, as thou iivedst unloved. 

Loves, ^rnces, and virtues, I call not on you, 
So shy, ^rave and distant, ye shed not a tear : 

But come, alhye offspring: of lolly so true, 
And flowers let us cull for Eliza's cold bier. 

We'll search through the p^arden for each silly flower^ 
We'll roam throu?2:h the forest for each idle weed ; 

But chiefly the nettle so typical shower, 

For none e'er approached her but rued the rash deed. 

We'll sculpture the marble, we'll measure the lay ; 

Here vanity strums on her idiot Ivre ; 
There Veenlndig-nation shall dart on her prey, 

Which spurning contempt shall redeem from his ire. 

THE EPITAPH. 

Mere lies now a prey to insulting neglect, 

What once was a buttc rfly, gay in life's beam : 

Want only of wisdom deni< d her respect. 
Want only of g-oodness denied her esteem. 



jlnsiver to a mandate sent btj the Surveyor of the mn- 
donvs^ carria((€Syls^c. to each farmer^ orderiyig him t9 
send a signed list of his horses^ servants^ ivheel-carri* 
ageSf Isfc. and <ivhether he was a married man or a 
bachelor, and what children he had. 

SIR, as your mandate did request, 
I send you here a fiaithfu' list, , 

My horses, servants, carts and graitl\, 
To which I'm free to tak my aith. 

Imprimis, then, for carriage cattle, 
I hae four brutes o' gallant mettle, 
As ever drew before a pettlc. 
My hand-a/ore^* a gude auld has-been. 
And v/ight and \vilfu* a' his days seen ; 

* The fore horte on the left hand, in the plough. 



r 2^'^ ) 

My fia7id'ti-hin^'\ a gude brown filly, 
Wh:\ aft has borne me safe frae Killie ;| 
And your auld borough mony a time, 
In days when riding- was nae ci ime ; 
My fur -a -hin^W a gude, j;ray bcjast. 
As e*er in tug or low was trac'd : 
The fourth, a Highland Donald hasty, 
A d-mnM red-wud, Kiiburnie blastie. 
For-by a cowtc, of cowtes the wale, 
As ever ran before a tail ; 
An' he be sparM to be a beast, 
He'll draw me fifteen pund at least. 

Wheel carriages I hae but few, 
Three carts, and-tvra are feckjy new ^ 
An auld wheel-barrow, mair for token^ 
Ae leg and baith the trams are broken, 
I made a poker o' tlie spindle, 
And my auld mither brunt the trundle. 
For men, Iv'e three mischievous boys, 
Run-deils for rantin and for noise; 
A gadsman ane, a thresher t'other, 
Wee Davoc bauds the nowte in fother, 
I rule them as I rAight discreetly, 
And often 'labour them compleatly. 
And ay on Sundays duly nightly, 
f on t!r^' questions taiige them tightly, 
Till fulth wee Davoc's grown sae gleg, 
(Tho' scaixely langer than my Leg) 
He'll screed you aff effectual callings 
As fast as ony in the dwalling. 
I've nane in female servant station, 
Lord keep me ay from a* temptation ! 
I hae nae wife, and that my bliss is, 
And ye hae laid nae tax on misses; 
For weans I'm mair than weel contented, 
Heaven sent me ain mair than I wanted ; 

t The hindmost on the left hand, in the plough, 

\ Kilmarnock. 

IJ The same on the right hand, in (he /dough. 



•} 



(. 350 ) 

My sonsie, smirking, dear-bought Bess, 

She stares the daddie in her face, 

Enough of aui^ht ye Hke but grace. 

But here, my bonnie, sweet, wee lady 

Tve said enough for her ah'eady, 

And if ye tax her or her mither, 

By the L — d ye'se get them a* thegilher I 

And now, remember, Mr. Aiken, 
Nae kind of licence out Tm takin. 
Thro' dirt and dub for life Dl paidic, 
E'er I sae dear pay for a saddle ; 
I've sturdy stumps, the Lord be thankit 
And a' my gates on foot Til shank it. 

This list wi* my ain hand I've wrote it, 
The day and date as under noted ; 
Then know all ye whom it concerns 
Subset ijisi hulc 

ROBERT BURNS. 

SOJ\rG. 

NAE gentle dames, tho' e'er sae faifj* 
> Shall ever be my muse's care ; 
Their titles a* are empty show ; 
Gie me my highland lassie, O. 

Within the glen me bufthy^ O, 

Aboon the plain sae ru-^hy^ O, 

/ set mr doivn ivi* right good wilt j 

To sing my highland laftsir, 0, 

were yon hills and vallies mine, 
Yon palace and yon gardens fine ! 
Tlie waiid then the love should know 

1 bear my highland lassie, O. 

Withi7i the glen<, \^c. 

But fickle fortune frowns on me 
And I maun cross the raging sea ; 

* Gentle is usrd h^re in ofifiosition to simple, in the 
Scottish and old En^^lish .sense of the word. JVke gentle 
dames— -"J^'o high blooded damet. £. 



( 251 ) 

But while iny crimson currents flow 
I'Jl love my highland lassie, O. 

Within l/ifglen, isfc, 
Altho'thrOj foreit^n climes I rang;e, 
I know her heart will never chanjj^e, 
For her bosom burns with honour's glow, 
My faithful highland lassie, O. 

IVithin (he glen,, Istc. 

For her I'll dare the billows* loar, 
For !ier I'll trace a distant sliore, 
TIjat Indian wealth may lustre throw, 
Around my highland lassie, O. 
Within the J^tcn^ ^c. 

She has my heart, she has my hand, 
By sacred truth and honor's band ! 
*Till the mortal stroke shall lay mc loir* 
I'm thine my highland lassie, O. 

Farewell the glen sae bu^hy^ I 

Farevfdl the plain sae rushy ^ O ! 

To other lands fuow muat go 

To sing my highland latsaie^ O.* 

IMPROMPTU, 

On Mrs. — '« birth day^ Kth Mv. 1793. 

OLD winter with his frosty beard. 
Thus once to Jove his pray'r preferr'd i 
What have I done of all the year, 
To bear this hated doom severe ? 
My cheerless suns no pleasure know ; 
Night's horrid car drags, dreary, slow ; 
My dismal months no joys arc crowning, 
But spieeny Ens-^lish, hanging, drowning. 
Now Toye for once be mighty civil, 
To counterbalance all this evil ; 
GivL' me an'! I've no more to say. 
Give mc Maria*8 natal day ! 

• This is an early firoductio^'ij <Pid9C€tn» Po have bfm 
written on Highland Mary. 



< 352 ) 

That brilliant gift will so enrich mc, 
Spring, summer, autumn, cannot match me; 
'Tis done I says Jove ; so ends my story, 
And winter once rejoic'd in glory. 

ADDRESS TO A YOUNG LADY. 

OH wert thou in the cauld blast, 

On youder lea, on yonder lea j 
My plaidie to the angry airt, 

I'd shelter thee, TVl shelter thee. 
Or did misfortune's bitter storms 

Around thee blaw, around thee blaw, 
Thy bield slwuld be my bosom, 

To share it a', to share it a'. 
Or were I in the wildest waste, 

Sae black and bare, sae black and bare, 
The desart were a paradise, 

If thou wert there, if thou wert there. 
O were I monarch o* the globe, 

Wi* thee to reign, wi* thee to reign j 
The brightest jewel in my crown, 

Wad be my queen, wad be my queen. 

TO A YOUNG LADY, 

Misi Jessy L , Dumfries : nvith Book* vfftich ihf 

Bard fircemied her. 

THINE be the volumes Jessy fair, 
And with them take the poet's prayer ; 
That fate may in her fairest page, 
With every kindliest, best presage, 
Of future bliss, enroll thy name ; 
With native worth, and spotless fame, 
And wakeful caution, still aware 
Of ill^ — but chief, man's felon snare ; 
All blameless joys on t- arth wc find. 
And all the treasures of the mind-— 
These be thy guardian and T*eward ^ 
So prays thy faithful friend, ike bard'. 



f 55S ^ 

SONNET, 

Writte*i on the 9Sth January^ 1793, the birth day of the 
Author i on htaring a thrush sing in a morning luaik, 

SING on sweet thrush upon the leafless bough, 
Sing on sweet bird, 1 listen to thy strain, 
See aged winter 'mid his surly reign. 

At thy blythe carrol clears his furrow'd brow. 

I^o in lone poverty's dominion drear, 

Sits meek content with ligln unanxious heart. 
Welcomes the rapid moments, bids them part, 

Nor asks if they bring aught to hope or fear. 

% thank thee, author of this opening day ! 

Thou whose bright sun now gilds yon orient skicB I 
Riches denied, thy boon was purer joys, 

What wealth could never give nor take a»vay! 

Yet come thou child of poverty and care, 
The mite high heav'n bestow'd, that mite with thee I'll 
share. 

EXTEMPORE. TO MR. S**E, 

On refusing to dine tvith him^ after having been firomised 
the f^ St of comfiany and the first of Cookery, 17th 
Decrmbery 1795. 

NO more of your guests, be they titled or not 
And Cook'ry the first in the nation : 

Who is proof to thy personal converse and wit, 
Is proof to all other temptation. 

TO MR. S**E, 

tVith a firesent of a dozen of Porter, 

O HAD the malt thy strength of mind# 

Or hops the flavour of thy wit ; 
*Twere drink for first of human kind, 

A gift that e'en for S»*e were lit. 
^ruaalem Tirvetny Dumfrieg, 



'( 254 ) 
THE DUMFRIES VOLUNl'EERS, 

i'aiU ^'^ PUSH ABOUT THE JOllUM.'* AfllUy l79->. 

DOES haughty Gaul invasion threat? 

Then let the loons beware, sir, 
There*s wooden walls upon our seas^ 

And volunteers on shore, sir. 
The Nith shall run to Corsincon^* 

And Criffel sink in SolMay,t 
l^er We permit a foreign foe 

On British ground to rally ! 

Fall de rail, l^ft 

O let us not like snarling tyke^ 

In wrangling be divided ; 
'Till slap come in an unco looa 

And wi' a rung decide it. 
Be Britain still to Britain true^ 

Amang ourseis united ; 
For never but by British hands 

Maun British wrangs be righted. 
Fall de rail, ^fc. 

The kettle o' the kirk and state 

Perhaps a claut may fail in*tj 
But deil a foreign tinkler loon 

Shall ever ca* a nail in't. 
©ur fathers blude the kettle bought^ 

And wha wad dare to spoil it ; 
By heaven the Facriiegious dog 

Shall iuel be to boil it. 

Fall de rail, kSt^ 

'The wretch that wad a tyrant own, 
And ih.e wretch his true-born brotho^ 

Who would set the wob aboon thi: throne^ 
May they be hang*d together I 

* J high hill at the source of the Mth, 
A T^eli known mountain at the mcuth t^thc same rhtr. 



( 355 > 

Who will not sint^ " Cod save the kin^/' 
Shall hatig as high's the steeple ; 

But, while we sing " God save tiie king/ 
We'll ne'er forget the people. 

Fall de rail. isTc. 



POKM, 

Jddressrd to Mr. Mitchell^ collector of Excise^ Dum- 
fries, 1796. 

FRIFXD of the poet tried ap.d leal, 
Whaj wanting thee mifL^ht btg or steal;, 
Alake, alakejthe meikie dcil 

Wi' a his witches 
Are at it, skelpin 1 jig and i eel, 

In my poor pouches. 

I moiestly, fu' fain, wad hint it, 
That one pound one, I sairly want it ; 
. If, wi' tlie hizzie down ye sent it. 

It wad be kind ; 
And while my heart wi' life-blood dunted 

I'd bear't in mind. 

So may the auld year gang out moaning 
To see the new come laden, gr-ouning, 
Wi' double plenty o'er tiie loanin 

To thee and thme ; 
Domestic peace and comforts crowning 

The hale design. 

POSTSCiyPT 

Ve've heard tliis while how I've been licket, 
And by fell death was neai !y nicki t : 
Griin ioon 1 he gat me by tive I'ecket, 

And sair me sheuk ; 
But by gude luck 1 lap a wicket. 

And turn'd a ncuk. 
But by that health, I've got a share o't, 
And by that life, I'm promis'd'mairo't^' 



( t5(? ) 

My hale and weel Pll take a care o^ 

A ten tier way : 
Then farewell foJly, hide and hair o'i 

For ance and ay. 

Sent to a gentleman whom he had offended, 

THE friend whom wild from wisdom's way* 
T!ie fumes of wine infuriate send ; 

^Not moony madness more astray) 

Who hut deplores that hapless friend I 

Mine was th* insensate frenzied part, 
Ah why should I s.uch scenes outlive f 

Scenes so abhorrent to my heart I 
*Tis thine to pity and forgive. 

POEM ON LIFE. 
iddrefised to colonel De PeijiteVy Dumfriet, I796v 

MY honored colonel, deep I feel 
Your interest in the poet*s wcel ; 
Ah ! now sma* heart hae I to speel 

The steep Parnassu5> 
Surrounded thus by Bolus pill, 

And potion glasses. 

O what a canty warld were it, 

Would pam and care, and sickness spare it ;; 

And fortune favour worth and merit, 

As they deserve : 
(And ay a rowth, roast beef and chuet ; 

Syne wha would starve ?) 

Dame life, tho' fiction out may trick her, 
And m paste gems and frippery deck her ; 
Oh ! flickering, feeble, and unsicker 

Pve found her still, 
Ay wavering like the willow wicker, 

'Tween good and ill. 

Then that curst carmagnole auld Satan> 
Watches, like baudrons by a ratton, 



Our sinfu* saul to get a claiit on 

Wi' felon ire ; 
Syne, whip 1 his tail ye'll ne'er cast saut on 

He's aff like fire. 
Ah Nick ! ah Nick ! it is na fair, 
First showing us the tempting ware, 
Bright wines and bonnie lassies rare, 

To put us daft ; 
Syne weave, unseen, thy spider snare 

O* heirs damn 'd waft. 

Poor man the flie, aft bizzes bye, 

And aft as chance he comes thee nigh, 

Thy auld damn'd elbow yeuks wi' joy, 

And hellish ploASure j 
Already in thy fancy's-eye 

Thy sicker treasure. 

Soon heels o'er gowdie ! in he gangs 
And like a sheep-head on a tangs, 
Thy girning laugh enjoys his pangs 

And murdering wrestle, 
As dangling in the wind he hangs 

A gibbet's tassel. 

But lest you think I am uncivil, 

To plague you with this draunting drivel. 

Abjuring a' intentions evil, 

I quat my pen : 
The Lord preserve us frae the devil I 

Amen I amen 1 

ADDRESS TO THE TOOTH-ACHE, 

MY curse upon your venom'd slang. 
That shoots my tortur'd gura'i alang ; 
And through my lugs gies mony a twan^^ 

Wi* gnawing vengeance ; 
Tearing my nerves wi* bitter pang, 

Like racking engines ! 

Z 2 



( 258 ) 

When fevers burn, or ague freezesi 
Rheumatics gnaw, or cholic squeezes; 
Our neighbour's sympathy may ease us* 

Wi' pitying moan i 
But thee — thou hell o* a* diseases, 

Ay mocks our groan ! 

Adown my beard the slavers trickle I 
I throw the wee stools o*er the meiklcj 
As round the fire the giglets keckle. 

To see me loup ; 
While raving mad, I wish a heckle. 

Were in their doup. 

O' a' the numerous human dools, 
III har'sts, daft bargains, cutty stools. 
Or worthy friends rak'd i* the mools. 

Sad sight to see I 
The tricks o* knaves, or fash o* fools, 

Thou bear'st the gree. 

Where'er that place be priests ca* hell^ 
Whence a* the tones o* mis'ry yell, 
And ranked plagues their numbers tell, 

In dreadfu' raw, 
Thou, 7boM-^c*^c surely bear'st the beJJ 

Amang them a' ! 

O thou grim mischief-m?.king chiel, 
That gars the notes of discord squeel, 
'Till daft mankind aft dance a reel 

In gore a shoe-thick ; — 
Ci\c a* the faes o* Scotiond's, weal 

A towmond's Tooth-Ache t 

SONG. Tune^'' Morag.'* 

O WHA is blic that lo'es me, 
And has my heart in keeping ; 

O sweet is sl)e that lo'es me, 
As dews o' summer weeping, 
tn tears the rose bud steeping. 



( «5§ ) 



CHORUS. 



O that*8 the lassie o* my hearty 

My tansie ever dearer^ 
O that^s the queen o* rvoman kinMj, 

And ne'er a tine to fleer her. 

If thou shalt meet a lassie, 

In grace and beauty charming, 

That e*en thy chosen lassie, 

Ere while thy breast sae warming, 
Had ne'er sic powers alarming. 
O thmt's, isfc. 

If thou hadst heard her talkingp^ 
And thy attentions plighted, 

That ilka body talking, 

But her by thee is slighted ', 
And thou art all delighted. 
O that*s^ \stc. 

If thou hast met this fair one ; 
When frae her thou hast parted., 

If every other fair ohc, 

But her thou hast deserted, 
And th«u art broken hearted.-"-^ 

(5 that's the lassie o* my hearty 

My lassie ever dearer^ 
d thac*'i the queen o* woman kini^~ 

And ne'er a ane to peer her, 

SONG. 

JOCKY's la*en the parting kiss. 

O'er the mountains he is gane ; 
And with him is a' my bliss. 

Nought but griefs with me remain-. 
Spare my luve ye winds tliat blaw, 

Plashy sleets and beating rain ! 
Sparc my luve thou featheiy snaw^ 

DrifiiBg o*er the frozen plain. 



t 360 ) 

When the shades of evening cree|> 
O'er the day*s fair gladsome e'c, 

Sound and safely may he sleep, 
Sweetly blythe his waukening be-! 

He will think on her he loves, 
Fondly he'll repeat her name ; 

For where'er he distant roves, 
Jocky's heart is still at hamJt> 

SONG. 

MY Peggy's face, my Peggy's form, 
The frost of hermit age might warm ; 
My Peggy's worth, my Peggy's mind, 
Misj^ht cbami the first of human kind. 
I love my Peggy's angel air, 
Her face so truly heavenly fair, 
Her iKMive grace so void of art 
But I ddore my Peggy's heart. 

The ^ily's hue, the rose's dye, 
The kindling lustre of an eye ; 
Who but owns their magic sway. 
Who but knows they all decay ! 
The tender thrill, the pitying tear, 
The generous purpose nobly dear, 
The gentle look, that rage disarms. 
These are all immortal charms. 

Written in a lurafifier^ mchninj^ a letter to Cafit, Grotfy 
to he left ivith Mr* Cardom}nl, Antiquarian, 

Tune-^^ Sir John Malcom. 

KEN ye aught o' Captain Grose ! 

IgOy (f ago. 
If he's amang his friends or foes ? 

/rem, co^-aTn, dago, 

U he South , or is he North t 
IgOy iJt ago. 



( fiffl ) 

6r drowned in the river Forth ? 

Iram^ coram, dago 
Is he slain by Hii^hland bodies ? 

Igo^ \Sf ago. 
And eaten iike a vrealher-haggis ? 

Iramy coram, dago. 

Is he to \bram's bosom gane ? 

Igf)^ iSf affo. 
Or haudin Sarah by the wame ? 

Jra?rfs coram, dago. 
Where'er he be, the Lord be near hiri^, 

Jgo, iy ago. 
As for the dei), he daur na steer him, 

Iram, coram, dago. 
But please transmit th' inclosed letter, 

Igo, Isf ago. 
Which will oblige your humble debtor, 

Ira?ny coram, dago. 
So may ye hae auld stanes in stor^, 

J^o, £3* ago. 
The very stanes that Adam borcj 

Jram, coram, dago. 
So nlay ye get in glad possession ; 

Igo, Ur ago. 
The coins o' Satan's coronation I 

Jram, coram, dago. 

TO ROBERT GRAHAM, Esq, OF FINTRY, 
On receiving a Favour. 

I CALL no goddess to inspire my strains, 
A fabled Muse may suit a bard that feigns; 
Friend of my life ! my ardent spirit burns, 
And all the tribute of my heart returns, 
For boons accorded, goodness ever new, 
The gift still dearer, as the giver you. 

Thou orb of day I thou other paier ligM 1 
And all ys many sparkling stars of night ; 



( Ui ) 

If auj^ht that givtr from my min<^ efface; 
If I that giver's bounty e'er disgrace ; 
Then roll to me, alonp: your wandering spheres, 
Only to number out a villain's years ! 

EPITAPH OJ^A FRIEND. 

AN honest man here lies at rest, 
As e'er God with his Imajjje blest, 
The friend of man, the friend of truth ; 
The friend of age, and guide of youth : 
Few hearts like his, with virtue warm'd 
Few heads with knowledge so informed : 
If there's another world, he lives in bliss; 
If there is none, he made the best of thiii^. 

A GRACE BEFORE DIMMER. 

O THOU, who kindly dost provide 

For every creature's want ! 
We bless thee, God of nature wide, 

Vox all thy goodness lent : 
And, if it please thee, heavenly guide, 

May never worse be sent ; 
But whether granted, or dcmed, 

Lord bless us with content i 

Amen. 

To my dear and muck ftovoured fi'ienri\ 
Miis. DUNLOP, OF DUNLOR 

ON SENSIBXLITY. 

SENSIBILITY how charming, 
Thou^ my friend c\xwi\. truly tell; 

But distress with horrors arming, 
Thou hast also Rnown too well I 

Fah\;cl llowcr, behuld the lily, 
Blooming in the sunny rdy : 



( 568 ) 

l,ct the blast sweep o'er the vallc)^ 
JSee It piostsate on the clay 

Hear the wood-lark charm the foresi; 

Idling o'er his little joys : 
Hapless hird 1 a prey the surest, 

1 o earh pirate of the skies. 

Dearly bought the hidden treasure^ 

Finer feelings can bestow i 
Chords that vibrate sweetest pleasure, 

Thrill the detpest notes of woe, 

A verse comfiosed and repeated by Burns, to the Ma»» 
tcr of the homey on taking leave at a place in the High^ 
fkndi where he had been hosfiitably entertained. 

WHEN death's dark stream I ferry o'er, 

A time that surely shall come j 
In heaven itself, I'll ask no more, 

Than just a Highland welcome. 

POEM, 

i^'itCen immediately ajXer having dined at thi huiae •/ 
/irofe.U9r Diigald Stewart, of Edinburgh^ at Cat^ 
rinc^ Atjrshire^in company %vith Lord Daer^ Octo- 
»<rr 23d, 1786. 

THIS wot ye all whom it concerns, 
I Rhymer Robin, alias Burns, 

October twenty-third, 
A ne'er to be fore;otten day, 
Sae far I sprackied* up the brae, 

1 dinner'd wi' a Lord. 
Tve been at,drunken wnVera't feasts, 
Kay, been bitch-fou' mang godly priest^ 

Wi' reverence be it spoken ; 

• Clamberctt, \ Mtorni(f9. 



i 364 ) 

yve even join'd the honour'd joruw, 
When migKty Squireships of the quoftJMj 
Their hydra drouth did sloken. 

But wi* a Lord— stand out my shin, 
A Lord — a Peer— ^n Eari*s son. 

Up higher yet my bonnet ; 
And sic a Lord— lang Scotch ells twi* 
Our Peerage he overlooks them a*, 

As I look o*er my sonnet. 

But O for Hogarth's magic powV 
To show Sir Bardy*s willyart glowr,* 

An* how he stai'd and stammer*(ir 
When goavan-t as if led v i* branks^ 
And stumpan on his ploughman shankip 

He'in the parlour hammered. 

I sidling shelterd in a nook, 
An' at his lordship steal't a look 

Like some portentous '»men -; 
lExcept good-smse and social glee, 
And, (what supris'd me) modesty » 

I marked nought uncommon^ 

i watch'd the symptoms o' the Great, 
The gentle pride, the lordly state. 

The arrogant assuming ; , 
The feint a pride, nae pride had he, 
Kor sauce, nor state that I could sec, 

Mair than an honest ploughmaf*'. 

Then from his Lordship I shall learn, 
Henceforth to meet with unconcern, 

(ine rank as well's another; 
Nae honrtt worthii man need care, 
To meet with noble youthful Daer, 

For he but meets a brother. 

* .Frightened ttmre, t Walking itu/iitUy. j ^i kind •r 
hidltr. 



( 8«5 ) 

Mxtetn/iore — nmritten while labouring under pecuniary 
dijfficulties'-^jifirilf 1 7 b 2 . 

WHY the deuce should I repine, 
And be an ill forebode r ; 

I'm tvrenty-three, and five feet nine, 
I'll go and be a sodger. 

1 gat some gear wi* ineikle care, 

I held it weel thegithcr j 
But now its gane, and something mair, 
I'll go and be a sodgei . 

Soliloquy on the »Author*s marriage, 

I HAE a wife o' my ain, 

I'll partake wi* nae-body ; 
I'll tak cuckold frae nane, 

I'll gic cuckold to nae-body. 

I hae a penny to spend, 

There — thanks lo nae-boily; 
I hae naethinv: to lentl, ^ 

I'll borrow frae nae-body. 

I am nae-body's lord, 

I'll be slave to nae-hody ; 
I hae a gudc braid sword, 

I'll lak dunls frae nae-body. 
ril be meriy and tree, 

I'll be Fad for nuc-hody ; 
If nae-body care for n»e, 

1*11 care for nae-body. 

FRAGMENT. 
Tune—" Donald Blue." 

O LEAVE novels, yc Manchiine belles, 
Ve're safer at your spinning-wiiccl : 
A a 



( 266 ) 

Such bitching books, are baited hcoka 
For rakish rooks like Rob Mossgicl. 
^ing tai lal lay^ IS^c. 

Your fine 7'om Jones and Grandisonsy 

They make your youthful fancies reel, 
They lieat your brains ant' fire your veins, 

And then you're prey for Rob Moss.^icl. 
Beware a tongue that's smoothly hung ; 

A heart that warmly seems to feel ; 
That feeling heart but acts a part, 

'Tis rakish art in Rob Mossgiel. 
The frank addi ess, the soft caress, 

Are worse than poisonM darts of sled) 
The frank address and politesse. 

Are all finesse in Rob Mossgiel. 

TO Dr. BLACKLOCK, 

In mnt^er to « Utter written by hirriy dated S4tli 
JugU9t, 1789. 

Ellisland, Sl8t Oct. ITBf. 

WOW, but your letter made me vauntic! 
And are ye hale, and wccl, and cantic ? 
I ken'd it still your wee bit jauntic, 
Wad bring you to : 
Lord send you ay as weel's I want jd 
And then ye*ll do. 

The ilUhief blawthe Heron south I 
And never drink be near his di^outh ! 
He tald mysel by word o* mouth, 

He'd tak my letter; 
I lippen'd to tl^c chiel in trouth. 

And bade nae better. 

But aiblins honest master Heron, 
Mad at the time some dainty fair one^ 
To ware hi» theolo^ic care on^ 

And holy study ; 



( 367 y 

And tir*d o* sauls to waste his lear on, 
E'en tried the body* 

But what d'ye think, my trusty fier, 

Vm turn*d a guager — Peace be here 1 

Parnassian queens, I fear, I fear, 

Wll now disdain mcy 

And then my fifly pounds a year 

Will little gain me. 

Ye glaikit, j^lci^some. dainty damies, 
Wiiaby Castalia's whimplin streamies,^ 
Lowp, sing, and lave your pretty limbics, 

Ye ken, ye ken. 
That strong necessity supreme is 

*Mang; sons o* men. 

I hae a wife and twa wee laddies, 

They maun hae brosc and brats o* duddies; 

Yc ken yoursels my heart right proud is, 

I need na vaunt, 
But ril sned besoms^^thraw saugh woodies, 

Before they want. 

Lord help me thro* this warld o* care I 
Vm weary sick o't late and air ! 
Not but I hae a richer share 

Than mony ithers; 
But why should ae man belter fare, 

And a' men brithers ! 

Come, Firm Resolve, take thou thevaij, 
Thou staJk o* carl-hemp in mr.n I 
And let us mind faint heart ne*er wan 

A lady fair : 
Wha does the utmost that h« can. 

Will whyles do raair. 

But to conclude my silly rhyme, 
(I'm s«ant o' verse, and scant o* time,) 
To make a happy fire-side clime 

To weans and wifci 

* Mr. fferon, author of the History of Scothndy /«/A^ 
fiublUhed. 



( «68 ) 

That's the true pathos and sublime 
Of human life. 

My compliments to sister Reekie ; 
And eke the same to honest Lucky, 
I wat siie is a dainty chuckie, 

As e*er tread clay I 
And gratefully my gude auld cockie, 

Tm yours for ay. 

AULD ROB MORRIS * 

Thf.kf/s auld Rob Morris that wons in yon glen, 
He's Ihe kini:; o' ^-ude fellows and wale of aukl men ; 
He !ias gowd in his cofl'ers, he hasowst;n and kine, 
And ae bonny lassie his darling and mine. 

She's fresh as the morning, the fairest in May ; 
She's sweet as the ev'ning amung the new hay ; 
As biythe and as artless as the lambs on the lea, 
And dear to my heart as the light to my e'e. 
But Oh ! she's an heiress, auld Robin's a laird, 
7\nd my daddie has naught but a cot-house and yard ^ 
A wooer like me maunna hope to come speed, 
The .vounds I muht hide that will soon be ray dead. 

The day comes to me, but delight brings me nane ; 
The night comes to me, but my rest it is gane : 
I wander my lane like a night troubled ghaist, 
And I sigh as ray heart it wad burst in my breast. 

had she but been of a lower degi ee, 

1 tiien might liue hop'd she wad smil'd upon me. 
O, how past describing had then been my bliss, 
As now my distraction no words can express I 

DUNCAN GRAY. 

Duncan Cray cam here to woo, 
//a, Aa, the wooing o*ty 

* 7%(? twojirgt linea are taken from an old ballad-'^the 
rest io wholly original. 



( '^69 ) 

On biythc yule night i^hen wc were fu', 

//a, Aa, ;A<" wooing ©V, 
Mai^g:ie coost her head fu* heigh, 
LookM asklcnt and unco skeigh, 
Gart poor Duncan stand abeigh j 
//a, /wt, the wooini^ o*t. 

Duncan fleech'd and Duncan pray'd ; 

Ha, ha, lyc. 
Meg was deaf as Ailsa Craig»* 

Ha, ha, isfc. 
Duncan siyjhM bpith out and in, 
Grat his e'en baitli bleer*t and Win', 
Spak o* lowpin o'er a linn ; 

Hoy ha, IS^c. 

Time and chance are but a tidt;. 

Ha. hu . tr'c. 
Slighted love is sair to bide, 

Ha, ha, ISTc. 
Shall I, like a fool, quoth he, 
For a haughty hizzie die ? 
She rnav p^ae to— France for inei 

Hay ha, ksfc. 

How it comes, let doctors tell, 

Ha, ha^ iSTc, 
Meg grew sick— as he grew heaS, 

Ha, ha, IfTc. 
Something in her bosom wrings. 
For relief a sigh she brin-^js ; 
And C), hereen, they spak sic things,} 

Ha, ha, kJTc 

Duncan was a lad o* grace, 

Ha. ha, ISfc. 
Maggie's was a piteous case, 

Ha, ha, life. 
Duncan could na be her death, 
Swelling pity smoothed his \»rath ; 
Now they're crouse and canty baitlu 

Ha, ha, the i»*ohig o*t. 

* ,i sveii'knvmi roekin thfjtrth of Ciydr* 
Aa9 



( 270 ) 

SONG. 

Tune-—^^^ I had a Horse** 

O PooRTiTH cauld, and restless love, 

Ye wreck my peace between ye ; 
Yet poortitli a* I could forsrive, 

An' 'twere na, for my Jeanie, 
O why should fate sic pleauure have, 

Life's dearest bands untwining ? 
Or wjiy sae sweet a flower as love, 

Depend on fortune's shining ? 

This warld's wealtli when I think on, 

It's pride, and a' the lave o't ; 
Fie, fie on silly coward man, 

That he should be the slave o't. 

Her een sae bonnie blue betray, 

How she repays my passion ; 
But prudence is her o'er word ay, 

She talks of rank and fashion. 
O why, kjfc. 

O wha can prudence think upon, 

And sic a lassie by him ? 
O wha can prudence think upon, 

And sae in love as I am ? 
O why, iJ^c. 

How blest the humble cotter's fate I* 

He v/ooes his simple dearie ; 
The silly boj^les wealth and state, 

Can never mak them eerie- 
O why should flUe sic pleasure have, 

Life's dearest bands untwining ! 
Or why sae sweet a flower as love. 

Depend on fortune's shining ? 

» " The wifd-wood Indian^ s fate" in the original M S. 



( an ) 

GALL A WATER. 

There's braw braw lads, on Yarrow brae«, 
That wander thro' the blooming heather : 

But Yarrow braes, nor Ettric shaws, 
Can match the lads o* Galla water. 

But tliere is ane, a secret ane, 
Aboon them a' I loe him better ; 

And 1*11 be his, ar,d he'll be mine, 
The bonnie lad o' Galla water. 

Altho* his daddie was nae laird, 
And tho' I hac na meikle tocher ; 

Yet rich in kindest, truest love, 

We'll tent our flocks by Galla water. 

It ne'er was wealth, it ne'er was wealth. 
That coft contentment, peace, or pleasure i 

The bands and bliss o* mutual love, 
O that's the chiefest warld's treasure ! 

LORD GREGORY. 

O MTitK, mirk is this raidni?»ht hour, 
And loud the tempest's roar ; 

A waefu* wanderer seeks thy tower, 
Lord Gregory ope thy door. 

An exile frae her father's ha*, 

And a' for loving thee; 
At least some pity on me shaw, 

If lore it may nabe. 

Lord Gregory, mind'st thou not the grorc, 

By bonnie Irwine-side, 
Where first I own'd that virgin-love 

I lang, lang had denied. 

How aften didst thou pledge and vow} 

Thou wad foray be mine : 
A»d my fond heart, itsel sac true, 

It ne'er mistrusted thine. 



( sra ) 

Hard is thy heart, Lord Gregory, 

And flinly is thy breast : 
Thou dart of heav'n that flanhcst by, 
O wilt thou g^ive me rest I 

Ye musterintr thundt-rs from abovc^ 

Your willing victim see ! 
But bpare and pardon my fause love, 

His wrangs to heaven and me ! 

WAJ^DERIKG WILLIE, 

HERE awa, theVe awa, wanderint^; Willie^ 
Now tired with wanderins?. haud awa hame; 

Come to my bosom my ain only dearie, 

And tell me thou brin|^*st me my Willie the same. 

Loud bl'jw the cauld wintt^r winds at our parting; 

It was na the blast hroui^ht the tear in my e'e : 
Now welcome the simnier. and welcome my Willie^ 

The simmer to nature, my Willie to me 
Ye hurricanes rest in the cave o* your slumbers, 

O how your wild horrors a lover alarms : 
Awaken ve breezes, row pfently ye billows, 

And waft my dear laddie ance mair to my arms. 

But if he's orQrotten his faithfullest Nanie, 

O still flovv between us, thou wide roaring main: 

Mav T nrver s'.e it. may F never trow it, 
But dying believe that my Willie's ray ain! 

When wild waf 't deadly hlaft %van hlavtn. 
^ir— »*The Mill MillO," 

WHEN wild war's deadly blast T?as-hlaw»7 

And f^entle peace retu'nincr, 
Wi' mony a sweet babe fatherless, 

And mony a widow mourning. 
I left the lines and tentv*d field, 

Where iang I'd been a lodger. 



( «r5 ) 

My humble knapsack a* my wealth, 
A poor and honest sodger. 

A leal, lijjjht heart was in my breast, 

My hand unstahiM wi' plunder ; 
And lor fair Scoiia hame ai^ain, 

I clitery on did warKler. 
I tliou.q;ht upon the blinks o* Coil, 

I t!iovi5^ht upon my Nancy, 
I thou;ijhl upon i{\<i wilchint^ smile 

That caui^ht my youthlul fancy : 

At length I reach'd the bonnie glen, 

Where early life: I sported ; 
I pass'd the mill and trystin.^ thorn, 

Where Nancy aft I couited : 
Wna spiM I but my aiu dear maid, 

Down by her mother*s dwcilini^ ! 
And turn'd me round to liide the flood 

That in my e'en was swelling. 
Wi* alter'd voice, quoth I- sweet lass, 

Sweet as yon hawthorn's blossom, 
O ! happy, happy may he be, 

That's dearest to thy bosom : 
My purse is light, I've fur to gang-, 

And fam would be thy lodij^er ; 
Tve serv'd my king and country lang, 

'lake pity on a sodc^ier, 

Sae wistfully «he gaz'd on me, 

And lovelier was than ever ; 
Quo' she. a sodger ance I lo'ed, 

Forget him shall I never : 
Our hamely cot and humble fare, 

Ye freely shall partake o't ; 
Tha»t gallant badge, the dear cockade, 

Ye're welcome for the sake o't. 

She gaz'd — she redden'd like a rose- 
Syne pale like ony lily ; 

She sank within my arms and cried. 
Art thou my ain dear Willie? 



( «T4 > 

Bjr liim "who made jon sun and skf-— 
By whom tuie love's rtgarded, 

I am the man , and thus may still 
True lovers be rewarded. 

The wars are o'er, and Vm come hamc, 

\nd find thee still true-hearted ; 
Tho' poor in ^ear, we're rich in ]ove> 

And mair M'c'se ne'er be parted 
Quo' she, my t^randsire left me gowd, 

A mailin plenish'd fairly ; 
And come, my faithful sodger lad 

Thou'rt welcome to it dearly I 

For gold the merchant ploughs the main, 

The farmer ploughs the manor ^ 
But pjlory is the sods:er's prize, 

The sods:er's wealth is honor ; 
The brave poor sod,^er ne'er despiftC} 

Nor count him as a stranger, 
Htmembtr he's his country's slay 

In day and hour of danger. 

MEG O' THE MILL. 
Air—" O bonnie lass vtill you lie in q barracJ6:.V 

O KEN ye what Meg o' the mill has gotten, 
An' ken ye what Meg o* the Mill has gotten ? 
She has gotten a coof wi' a claute o' siller, 
And broken the heart o' the barley Miller. 

The Miller was strappin, the Miller was ruddy i 
A heart like a lord, and a hue like a lady : 
The laird was a widdefu', blcerit knurl ; 
She's left ihe gude fellow and taen the churl. 

The Miller he hecht her a heart leal and loving: 
The laird did address her, with matter mair moving, 
A fine pacing-horse wi* a clear chained bridle, 
A whip by ht r sidc; and a bonnie side-saddU. 



( 275 ) 

O wae on the siller, it is sac prevailing ; 
And wae on tlie love that's fix'd on a mailini 
A tocher's nae word in a true lover'ji parle, 
liwt, gic me my love, and a fig for tiie warl*! 

TuKE— '* The iant time J came o*er the moor,*" 

FAREWELL thou stream that winding flow* 

Around Maria's dwelling ! 
Ah cruel mcm'ry ! spare tlie throes 

Within my bosom swelling : 
Condemn *d to drag a hopeless chaia 

And siill in .secret, languish, 
To feel a fire in ev'ry vein, 

Yet dare not speak my anguish. 

The wretch of love, unseen, unknown, 

I fain my crime would cover : 
The bursting sigh, th* unweciing groan., 

Betray the hopeless lover, 
I know ray doom must be despair, 

Thou will, nor canst relieve me ; 
But oh, Maria, hear one prayer, 

For pity's sake forgive me. 

The music of thy tongue I heari, 

Nor wist while it enslav'd me ; 
I saw thine eyes yet nothing fear*d# 

* nil fears no more had sav'd mc- 
Th' unwary sailor thus aghast. 

The wheeling torrent viewing ; 
'Mid circling horrors yields at lati 

To overwhelming ruin. 

A BALLAD 

Tbere was a lass and she wai fair, 

At kirk and market to be seen ; 
When a* the fairest maids were mefc, 

The fairest maid was bonnie Jcafi. 



( ard ) 

And ay she wrought her mammie's wark. 

And ay she sarij^ sac merrilie ; 
Tlie blyihest bird upon the bush, 

Had ne*er a lighter heart than she. 
But hawks will rob the lender joys 

That bless the little lint white's nest ; 
And frost will blight the fairest flowers, 

And love will break the soundest rest. 

Young Robie was the brawest lad, 
Ti.e flow-r ana pride of a* the glen ; 

And he had owsen. sheep and kye, 
And wanton naigies, nine or ten. 

He gaed wi* Jeanie to the tryste, 
He danc*d \m* Jeanie on the down; 

And lang t're witless Jeanie wist. 

Her heart was tnu, her peace was stown, 

As in tne bosom o' the stream, 

The moon-beam dwells at dewy t*en ; 
So trembling, pure, was tender love 

Within the breast o' bonnie Jean 
And now she works her mammie*s warkj 

And ay she sipjhs wi* care and pain ; 
Yet wist na what her ail mi .':h( be, 

Or what wad niak her weel again. 

But did na Jeanie*s heart loup light, 
And did na joy blink in her e'e^ 

As Robie tauld a tale o* love 
Ae e'enin on the lily lea ? 

The sun was sinking in the west. 

The birds sang sweet in ilka grove ; 
His cheek to hers he fondly prest, 

And whisper'd tluis his tale o' love. 
O Jeanie fair, I loe tliee dear ; 

() cann thou tfunk to fancy me ! 
Or wilt thou leave thy mammie's cot, 

And learn to tent the farms wi* na*. 



( 277 ) 

At barn or byre thou shall na drudge, 
Or naething else to iroublc thee ; 

But stray amang the heather-bells, 
And tent the waving corn wi* me. 

Now what could artless Jeanie do ? 

She had nae will to say him na : 
At length she blush'd a sweet consent, 

And love was ay between them twa. 

Tune — " Logan Water." 

O, Logan, sweetly didst thou glide, 
That day I was my Willie's bride ; 
And years sinsine hae o'er us run, 
Like Logan to the simmer sun. 
But now thy flowery banks appear 
Like drumlie winter, dark and drear, 
While my dear lad maun face his faes, 
Far, far frae me and Logan braes. 

Again the merry month o' May, 

Has made our hills and valleys gay ; 

The birds rejoice in leafy bowers, 

The bees hum round the breathing flowers 

Blythe morning lifts his rosy eye, 

And evening's tears are tears of joy : 

My soul delightlcss, a' surveys, 

While Willie's far frae Logan braes. 

Within yon milk-white hawthorn bush, 
Amang her nestlings sits tlie thrush ; 
Her faithfu* mate will share her toil, 
Or wi' his song her cares beguile : 
But I, wi' my sweet nurslings here, 
Nae mate to help, nae mate to cheer, 
Pass widov/'d nights and joyless days. 
While Willie's far frae Logan braes. 

O wae upon you, men of state. 
That brethren rouse to deadly hate 1 
As ye mak mony a fond heart mourn, 
Sae may it on your heads return ! 

B b 



( 278 ) 

How can your flinty liearts enjoy, 
The widow's tears, the orphan's cry. 
But soon may peace bring- happy clays 
And Willie, hame to Logan braes ! 

ALLAN WATER. 

By Allan -stream I chanc'd to rove, 

While Phoebus sank beyond Benleddi,* 
The winds were whispering thro* the grove, 

The yellow com was waving ready: 
T listen'd to a lover's sang, 

And thought on youthfu* pleasures mony; 
And ay the wild-wood echoes rang-— 

O dearly do I lo'e thee Annie. 

O happy be the woodbine bower, 

Nae nightly bogle make it eerie; 
Nor ever sorrow stain the hour, 

The place and time I met my dearie ! 
Her head upon my throbbing breast, 

She sinking said, " I*m thine forever !*' 
While mony a kiss the seal imprest, 

The sacred vow, we ne'er should sever. 

The haunt o' spring's, the primrose brae, 

The simmer joys the flocks to follow ; 
How cheery thro' her shortening day, 

Is autumn in her weeds o' yellow ; 
But can they melt the glowing heart. 

Or chain the soul in speechless pleasure, 
Or thro' each nerve the rapture dart, 

Like meeting her, our bosom's treasure. 

WHISTLE, AND I'tL COME TO YOU MY I. AD. 

O whistle, and I'll come to you, my lad, 
O whistle, and I'll come to you, my lad ; 
Tho' father and mither and a' should gae mad. 
O whistle, and I'll come to you, my lad. 

* A mountam west of Strath-Allan 3009 feet high. 



( 279 ) 

But warily tent when ye come to court me. 
And come, nae unless the back-yett be a jee ; 
Syne up the back-style, and let nae-body see, 
And come as ye were na com in to me. 
And come, ^c. 

rohistlr^ i!fc. 
At ki)'k, or at market whene'er ye meet me, 
Gang by me as tho' that ye car'd nae a flie ; 
liut steal me a blink o' your bonnie black e*e, 
Yet look as ye were na looking at me. 
Yet look, &c. 

O luhistlc^ is'c. 

Ay vow and protest that ye care na for me, 
And whyles ye may lightly my beauty a wee \ 
But court nae anither, tho' jokin ye be, 
For fear that she wyle your fancy frae me. 
For fear, &c. 

Bruce to his troops, on the eve of the battlf 
OF Bannock-Burn. 

Scots, wha hae wi' Wallace bled, 

Scots, wham Bruce has aften led. 

Welcome to your gory bed, 
<:^r to victorie. 

Now's the day, and now's the hour ; 

See the front o' battle lour ; 

See approach proud Edward's power- 
Chains and slaverie ! 

Wha will be a traitor knaves ? 

Wha can fill a coward's gVcive ? 

Wha sae base as be a slave ? 
Let him turn and flee 1 

Wha for Scotland's king and hiw 
Freedom's sword will strongly draw, 
free-man siand, or Free-man fa', 

Let him follow me 1 
By oppression's Troes and pains ! 
By your sons in servile chains! 



( 280 ) 

Wc will druln our dearest veins, 
i3ut they shall be free ! 

Lny the proud usurpers low ! 
Tyrurts fall in every foe ! 
Libf! ly*,s in every blow I 
Ltt us DO or DIE ! 

AULD LANG SYNE. 

Should auld acquaintance be forgot, 
And never brought to min' ? 

Should auld acquaintance be forgot, 
And days o' lang syne ? 

CHoaus. 
For auld lang syne, my dear^ 

For atifd lang syne, 
We*ll tak a cup o* kindness yet, 

For auld lang syne. 

We twa hae run about the braes, 

And pou*t the gowans fine ; 
But weVe wander'd mony a weary foot 

Sin auld lang syne. 
For auld, Ijfc. 

We twa hae paidlet i* the burn, 

Frae mornin sun till dine : 
But seas between us braid hae roar'd, 

Sin auld lang syne. 
For auld, (sfc. 

And here*s a hand, my trusty fier, 

And gie's a hand o' thine; 
And we'll tak a right gude wille-waught 

For auld lang sync. 
For auld, zjfc. 

And surely ye'll be your pint-stowp, 

And surely I'll be mine ; 
And we'll tak a cup o* kindness yet^ 

For auid lang syne. 
For auld, is'c. 



( 281 ) 

SAW YE MY PHELY. 

Tune—" fVhen she cam ben she dobbit." 

O saAv ye my dear, Phely ? 
O saw ye my dear, Phely ? 
She's down i' the grove, she's wi' a ne\y love, 
She vfinna come hame to her Willy. 

What says she, my dearest, my Phely? 
What says she, my dearest, my Phely ? 
She lets thee to wit that she has thee forgot, 

And for ever disowns thee her Willy. 
O had I ne'er seen thee, my Pliely ! 
O had I ne'er seen thee, inv Phely ! 
.\s light as the air, and fause as thou's fair, 

Thou'8 broken the heart o' thy Willy. 

SONG. 

Tune — '' Cau/d kail in Aberdeen:' 
HOW lang and dreary is the night. 

When I am frae my dearie j 
I restless lie frae e'en to morn, 

Though I were ne'er sae weary. 

CHORUS. 

For &A, her lanely night i are lang: 

And ohy hsr dreams are eerie ; 
And ohy her widow'' d heart is sair, 

That's absent frae her dearie. 

When I think on the lightsome days 

I spent \vi' thee, my dearie ; 
And now what seas between us roar, 

How can I be but eerie. 
jFor ohi Ij^c. 

How slow ye move, ye heavy hours : 
The joyless day how dreary : 

It was na sae, ye glinted by, 
When I was wi' my dearie* 
For ohy Isfc. 

B b 2 



( 282 ) 

THE AULD MAX. 

BUT lately seen in gladsome green 

The woods rejoic'd the day. 
Thro' gentle showers the laughing fl0>ver> 

In double pride were gay : 
But now our joys are fled, 

On winter blast a'Aa ! 
Yet maiden May, in rich array, 

Again shall bring them a*. 

But my white pow. nae kindly thowe 

, Shall melt the snaws of age; 
My trunk of eild, but buss or beild. 

Sinks in time's wintry rage. 
Oh, age has weary days, ' 

And nights o' sleepless pain ! 
Thou L-^oiden time o' youthfu* prime, 

Why com'st thou not again I 

SONG. 

MY Chloris, mark how green the groves, 
The primrose banks how fair: 

The balmy gales awake the flowers, 
And wave thy flaxen hair. 

The lav'rock shuns the palace gay^ 

And o'er the cottage sings : 
For li-iture smiles as sweet, 1 ween. 

To shepherds as to kings. 

Let .iiinstrels sweep the skilfa' string 

1p. lordly liglittd ha': 
The sliepherd stops his simple reed, 

Blylhe in tlie birkenshaw. 

Tl)e princ(.]y revel may survey 

Our rustic dance wi* scorn; 
But art their hearts as light as ours 

Beneath the milk-white thorn, 

The shepherd in the flowery glen, 
In shepherd's phrase will woo : 



( 283 ) 

The courtier tells a finer talc, 
But is his heart as true? 

These wild-wood flowers Tve pou't, to deck 
That spotless breast o' thine i 

The courtier's gems may witness love- 
But 'tis na love like mine. 

SONG. Tune^'' The Sow's tail.'* 

He O Philly, hai>py be that day 

When rovin;^ throuc^h the j^ather'd hay, 
My youthfu' heart was stown away, 
And by thy charms, my Philly. 

She O Willy, ay I bless the grove 

When first I own'd my maiden love, 
Whilst thou didst pledge the powers above 
To be my ain dear Willy. 

He. .....As songsters of the early year 

Are ilka day mair sweet to hear, 
So ilka day to me mair dear 
And charming is my Philly. 

She As on the brier the budding rose 

Still richer breathes and fairer blowsj 
So in my tender bosom grows 
The love I bear my Willy. 

He The milder sun and bluer sky» 

That crown my harvest cares wl' joy, 
Were ne'er sae welcome to ray eye 
As is a sight o* Philly. 

She The little swallow's wanton wing, 

Tho' wafting o'er the flowery spring, 
Did ne'er to me sic tidings bring, 
As meeting o' my Willy. 

He The bee that thro' the sunny hour 

Sips nectar in the opening flower, 
Compar'd wi' my delight is poor, 
Upon the lips o* Philly. 

She The woodbine in the dewy weet 

When opening shades in silence meet 



( 284 ) 

Is nocht sae fragrant or aae sweei 
As IS a kiss o* Willy. 

He J-.et fortune's wheel at random rin, 

And fools mtiy tine, and knaves may win j 
My thouQjhts are a* bound up in ane, 
And that's my ain dear Philly. 

Sbe What's a' the joys that jB^owd can gie ? 

I care nae w^^alth a siuRrle flie ; 
The lad T love's the lad for me, 
And that's my ain dear Willy. 

SONG. Air — " Lumps o* fudding,. 

Contented wi* little* and cantie wi* mair, 
Whene'er I forgather wi' sorrow and care, 
I ?-ie them a skelp., as they're creepin alang, 
V/i' a cog^ o' gude swats, and an auld Scottish sang. 

I ^vhyles claw the elbow o' troublesome thought ; 
But man is a sodger» and life is a faujrht: 
My mirth and good humour are coin in ray pouch, 
And my Freedom's my lairdship nae monarch dare 
touch. 

A towmond o' trouble, should that be my fa', 
A nip-ht o' gude fellowship sowthers it a' : 
When at the blythe end of our journey at last, 
Wha the deil ever thinks o' the road he has past. 

Blind chance, let her snapper and stoyte on her way , 
Be't to me, be't frae me, e'n let the jade gae : 
Come ease, or come travail ; come pleasure, or pain ; 
My warst word is—" Welcome and welcome again !' 

MY NANIE'S AW A. 
Tune—." There'll never he fieace^ Isfc.'^ 

NOW in her green mantle blythe nature arrays, 
And listens the Inmbklns that bleat o'er the braes, 
While birds warble welcome in ilka green shaw;. 
But to me it's delightless — my Nanie's awa. 



( 285 ) 

The snaw-drap and primrose our woodlands adorn, 
And violets bathe in the weet o' the moi'ti ; 
They pain my sad bosom, sae sweetly they blaw, 
They mind mc o' Nanie — and Nanie's awa. 

Thou lav'rock that springs frae the dews of the kiwn, 
The shepherd to warn o' the grey-breaking dawn, 
And thou mellow mavis that hails the night fa', 
Give over for pity— -my Nanie's awa. 

Come autumn sae pensive, in yellow and grey, 
And .soothe me wi* tidings o* nature's decay : 
The dark, dreary winter, and wild-driving snaw, 
Alane can delight me — now Nanie's awa. 

Tune — " Let me in this ae night.'* 
O Lassie, art thou sleeping yet, 
Or art thou wakin, I would wit, 
For love has bound me hand and foot, 
And I would fain be in, jo. 

CHORUS. 

O let me in this ae nighty 

This ae^ ae, ae niifltt, 
For fiit-/s sake this ac night, 

O rise and let me in, Jo, 

Thou hear'st the winter wind and weet, 
Nae star biinl^s thro' the driving sleet; 
Tak pity on my weary feet, 
And shield me frae the rain, jo. 
O let me in, \:fc. 

The bitter blast that round me blaws 
Unheeded howls, unhee<:led fa's : 
The cauldness o' thy heart's the cause 
Of a' my grief and pain, jo. 
O let mc in, Isfc. 

HER ANSWER. 

O tell me na o' wind and rain, 
Upbraid na me wi' cauld disdain, 
Gae ba«k the gate ye cam again, 
I winna let you in, jo. 



( 286 ) 

CHORUS. 

/ tell you now this ae nighty 

This Gc, ae, ae night ; 
jindancefor a* this ae night. 

I Kvinna let you in, jo. 

The snellest blast, at mirkest hours, 
That round the pathless wand'rer pours, 
Is notcht to what poor she endures 
That's trusted faithless man, jo. 
I tell you noTJy Is^t . 

* The sweetest flower that decked the meacl^ 
Now trodden like the vilest weed : 
Let simple maid the lesson read, 
The weird may be her ain, jo. 
I tell you notVy ^c. 

The bird that charm *d his summer-day, 
Is now the cruel fowler's prey ; 
Let witless, trusting woman say 
How aft her fate's the same, jo. 
I (ell you nowy ^c, 

ADDRESS TO THE WOOD-LARK. 

Time " Where' II bonnic Jnn lie'''\...Or,''<'Lochfroch SideM 
O STAY, sweet warbling wood-lark stay, 
Nor quit for me the trembling spray, 
A hapless lover courts thy lay, 

Thy soothing fond compjjiining. 
Again, again that tender p'art, 
That I may catch thy melting art ; 
For surely that wad touch her heart, 

VVha kills me wi' disdaining. 
Say, was thy little mate unkind, 
Aiicl heard thee as the careless wind ? 
Oh, nocht but love and sorrow join'd, 

Sic notes o' woe could Avauken. 
Thou tells 6' never-ending care ; 
O' speechless grief, and dark despair; 
For pity's sake, sweet bird, nae mair ! 

Or my poor heart is broken ! 



( 287 ) 

Song. — Tune..." Humours of Glen.** 

Their groves o' sweet jiiyrtle let foreign lands reckon, 

Where bright-beaming summers exalt the perfume 
Far dearer to me yon lone glen o' green breckan, 

Wi* the burn stealing under the lang yellow broom ^ 
Far dearer to me are yon humble broom bowers, 

Where the blue-bell and gowan lurk lowly unseen ; 
For there, lightly tripping amang th« wild flowers, 

A listening the Jinnet, aft wanders my Jean. 

Tho* rich is the breeze in their gay sunny vallies, 

And cauld Caledonia's blast on the wave ; 
Their sweet-scented woodlands that skirt the proud 
palace, 

What are they ? The haunt o* the tyrant and slave ; 
The slave's spicy forests, and gold-bubbling fountains, 

The brave Caledonian views wi' disdain; 
He wanders as free as the winds of his mountains, 

Save Lov«*s willing fetters, the chains o* his Jean. 

SONG. Tune—" This ia no my ain home:' 

CHORUS. 

O this (s no my ain lassie, 

Fair tho* the lassie be; 
'weel ken liny ain lassie, 

Kind love is in her e*e, 

I see a form, I see a face, 
Yc weel may wi' the fairest place : 
It ^vants to me, the witching grace, 
The kind love that's in her e'e. 
O this is nOf l:fc. 

She's bonnie, blooming, straight and tall, 
And lang has had my heart in thrall ; 
And ay it charms my very saul, 
The kind love that's in her e'e. 
O this is T20y ^r, 

A thief sae paw^ie is my Jean* 
To" steal a blink bv a' unseen; 



( 288 ) 

But gleg as light are lover's e'en, 
Wlien kind love is in the e*e. 
O thin is no, i^c. 

It may escape the courtly sparks, 
It may escape the learnetl clerks; 
But wee! the watching lover marks 
The kind love that's in her e*e. 
O this ig «0j ^r. 

SCOTTISH SOA^. 

Now spring has clad the grove in green, 

And strew'd the lea wi* flowers: 
The furrow'd waving corn is seen 

Rejoice in fostering showers ; 
While ilka thing in nature join 

Their sorrows to forego, 
O why thus all alone are mine 

The weary steps of woe I 

The trout within yon wimplingbuni 

Glides swift, a silver dart, 
.\nd safe beneath the shady thorn 

Defies the angler's art : 
My life was ance that careless stream. 

That wanton trout was I ; 
But love, wi' unrelenting beam, 

Has scorch'd my fountains dry. 

The little flow'rets peaceful lot, 

In yonder cliff that grows. 
Which save the linnet's flight, I wot, 

Nae ruder visit knows, 
Was mine ; till love has o'er me past. 

And blighted a' my bloom. 
And now laeneath the with'ring blast 

My youth and joy consume. 

The waken'd lav'rock warbling springs 

And climbs the early sky, 
Winnowing blythe hei dewy wings 

In morning's rosy eye; 



( 285 ) 

As little recl^t T sorrows po-vver, 

Until the flowery enarc 
O' witching love, in luckless hour, 

Made me the thrall o' care. 

O had my fate been Greenland snows, 

Or Afric's burning zone, 
Wi' man and nature leaguM my foes, 

So Peggy ne*er l*d known ! 
The wretch whase doom is, " hope nae mair/* 

What tongue his woes can tell ? 
Within whase bosom save despair, 

Nae kinder spirits d^vell. 

SONG— TuKS — " Let mb in this ae sight**' 

Forlorn, my love, no comfort near, 
Far, far from thee, I wander here ; 
Far, far from thee, the fate severe 
At which I most repine, love. 

CHORUS. 

O vfert ehouf lovcy but near mcy 
But near^ near^ near me ; 
Hov) kindiy thou vtouldst cheer me, 
And mingle sighe ^ith mine, ioT^e. 

Around me scowls a wintry sky. 
That blasts each bud of hope and joy ^ 
And shelter, shade, nor home have I, 
Save in these arms of thine, love. 
O wert^ tsTc. 

Cold, altered friendship's cruel part, 
To poison fortune's ruthless dart- 
Let me nm break thy faithful heart, 
And say that fate is mine, love. 
O ivert, tS^c. 

But dreary tho* the moments fleet, 
O let me think we yet shall meet 4 
That only ray of solace sweet 
Can on thy Chloris shine, love. 
O naert, Uc, 

€ C 



( 290 ) 

SCOTTISH BALLAD. 
Tune—" The Lothian lassie." 

Last May a braw wooer cam clown the lang gl€n> 

And sair wi' his love he did deave me ; 
I said there was naething I hated like man, 

The deuce gae wi' 'm, to believe me, believe mcy 

The deuce gae wi' *m, to believe me. 

He spak o* the darts in my bonnie black e'en, 

And vow'd for my love he was dying; 
I said he might die when he liked, for Jean, 

The Lord forgie me for lying, for lying* 

The Lord forgie me for lying ! 

A wee-stocked mailen, himsel* for the laird, 
And marriage aff-hand, were his proffers : 

I never loot on that X kend it, or carM, 

But thought I might hae waur offers, waur offers, 
But thought I might hae waur offers. 

But what wad yc think ? in a fortnight or less^ 

The deil tak his taste to gae near her I 
He up the lang loan to my black cousin Bess, 

Guess ye, how the jad I I could bear her, could bear 
her, 

Guess yc, how the jad ! I could bear her. 

But t* the niest week as I petted wi' care, 

I gaed to the tryste o' Dalgarnock, 
And wha but my fine fickle lover was there, 

I glowr*d as Td seen a warlock, a warlock, 

I glowr*d as I'd seen a warlock. 

But owre my left shoutlier I gied him a blink, 

Least neebors might say I was saucy ; 
My wooer he caper'd as he'd been in drink, 

And vow'd I was his dear lassie, dear lassie. 

And vow'd I was his dear lassie. 

I spier'd for my cousin fu* couthy and sweet, 

Gin she had recover'd her hearin. 
And how her new shoon fit her auld shackl't teet, 

But, heavens ! how he fell a swearin, a swearin, "• 

But,ilieavepA I how he fell a swearin. 



( 89V ) 

He begged, for gudesake ! I vrad be his ivifc, 

Or else I wad kill him wi* sorrow : 
So e'en to preserve the poor body in life 

I think I maun wed him to-morrow, to-morrow, 

I think I maun wed him to-morrow. 

HEY FOR A LASS WV A TOCHER. 
TvNiL — ^'^Balinamona ora." 
Aw A wi* your witchcraft o* beauty's alarms, 
The slender bit beauty you grasp in your arms ? 
O, gie me the lass that has acres o* charms, 
O, gie me the lass wi* the weel stockit farms. 

CHORUS. 

Then hey ^ for a laas ifii* a tocher y Ihen hey for a la%9 n\n^ 

a tocher. 
Then hey, for a laaa w' a tocher, the nice yellow gzdntav 

for ?ne. 

Your beauty's a flower, in the morning that blows, 
And withers the faster, the faster it grows ; 
But the rapturous charm o'tli® bonnie green knowes, 
Ilk spring they're new deckit wi' bonnie white yowes. 
then hey, l^fc. 

And e'en when this beauty your bosopi has blest, 
The brightest o* btauty may cloy, when possest ; 
But the sweet, yellow darlings wi' Geordie imprest^ 
The langer ye hae them— the mair they're carest. 
Then hey, i!fc, 

THE SILLER GUN* A POEM, 

JVever before /mbiished, 

AE bonnie mornin', clear and sunny, 
Our trades wha like ay to be funny. 
And spend a wee flight o' their money 

On Usquabse; 
Forgather'd for their siiler gunny 

To shute, that day. 

* 77i(? Siller-gun was /iresented to (he tradesmen in 
Scotland^ to be that for every year. 



C 292 ) 

Wi* hat rp> black as ony raven, 
Weel po\\'i;.er'cl w5g|^ie, beard tiew shuten, 
And jlka kind o' deeding havin 

In liinn array ; 
Furth cam ilk hne, soine cheap years saving,, 

To wair that day. 

Fair fa* tliem, honest edgie carls, 
Lang may they live ay free o' quarrels, 
And tipple ay frae gude tight barrels ; 

For by my certie, 
They were as braw as or.y Earls, 

And e'en right hearty. 

Nae feck o* fowk could boast inae dainties, 
Albeit our Lairds now rack their renties, 
Whilk gars our canty cock-a-bcnties, 
Wear hodden gray ; 
Yet ilka journeynn.an and prentice 

Was snod that day. 

For as they gaed alang the causey 
Wi* ilka thing sae trig an* gaucy, 
They staw tlie heart o* monie a lassie 

Right blate away, 
Whicii gart them wha afore were saucy 
Look doylt that day. 

As generals aft their troops convene, 
To see they a* be trig and clean ; 
Sae now the dinlin drums I ween 

Were beat to arms. 
And honest fowk were deav*d bedeen 

Wi' wars alarms. 

Syne nuld and young o* ilka lallan 
Were a* in order made to fall in, 
And ay the mair to keep the sauI in 

And banish wae, 
The bonnie bells made sic devallin 
Wi' jay that day. 

Hech, sirs, what crouds vere gathered four* 
To sec them daiker through the lown«— 



( 293 ) 

Lac), lass and wean, wives, black and brown, 
Wi* age grown gray, 

Cam, fidging fain, to gie their boon 
O praise that day. 

E'en blythe to see them tightly drest, 
Auld Efifis was there amang the rest, 
And while wi* joy her sides she prest, 

Like mony mae, 
Her approbation was exprest 

In words like thae. 
Wow, but it gars*ane*s heart loup light 
To see auld fowk sae cleanly dight, 
E*en now our Geordie looks as tight 

As the first timfr 
His blooming halFet's bless'd my sight 

When in his prime. 

But silence on ilk lassie's part 
Spak mair than words could ere impart, 
Deep sighs, the language o' the heart, 

Will oft reveal 
A flame which a' the pow'r of art 

Could ne'er conceal. 

Wi* fiddles playing, colours fleeing, 
And mony a thing weel wordy seeing, 
Down to the Craig's, a' weel agreeing, 

They gaed awa ; 

'Twa'd made ane laugh, tho* they'd been deeing, 

To see them a*. 

As fierce, I trow, as ony gled 
Ilk deacon march'd afore his trade, 
Auld cliicls wha had to arms been brcil 

Lang e'er Belleislc, 
Them a' like ony sodgers led 

In rank and file* 

Ilk ane had guns, there's mony trimn^e^r, 
For maist o* them, I'd lay a brimmer, 
Had na been shot this mony a simmer, 
They gied sic dunts j 
C ca 



^ ( 294 ) 

And some through fear had bits o' timmei- 
Instead o' flints. 

Ither*s (for need maks mony a fen) 
Fill'd up their touch-hole's \vi' a pin, 
And as in twenty, there was ten 

Worm-eaten stockSj 
Sae here and there a rozet end 

Held on their locks. 

And then to shaw what different stand* 
Twiest him that gets and gies commands, 
Swords that unsheath'd sin Preston Pans 

Neglected lay, 
Were now bix)ught out to deck the hands 

O* chiefs that day. 

Ye wha hae been at Hallow fair 
An* seen the plays that happen'd there, 
Or, aiblins read its frolics rare 

In Rabbie*s lay, 
Can only now wi* it compare 

The sports that day. 

Like ony camp around a hill 
Were Booricks made wi* meikle skill, 
Pang*d to the e'e wi* mony a gill 

O' a* kind liquor. 
Where fowk might coz*Jy crack their fill, 

Or bend the bicker. 

Snug in thae tents where fowk could see, 
On divet seats, kuir'd wi' a tree, 
Auld birkies innocently slee 

Upo* their doup, 
Were e'en as blythe as blythe could be, 

Wi' cap an* stoup. 

Pleas'd, they'd recount wi' meikle joy 
How aft they'd been at sic a ploy, 
Wi* a* their names, their eild employ 

' And youthful play, 
Wha'd ever won this tirley toy 
Sin Jamie's day. 



( 295 ) 

And mony a crack and weel wal'd tale 
'Boul bald forbears, whilk ne*er does fail 
Baith saul and body to reg^ale 

Wi* malchlcss pow*r 
Wad through the ke lang day prevail 
Till a* was owre. 

When wives or ither cares perplex us, 
When senseless gilligawkies vex us, 
Or waesuck eild» and poortith checks us 

Wi* ragged duds, 
Deil haet sae weel frae i^r ief protects us 
As reeming scuds. 

Here rowth o* ginge-bread stans were seen^ 
Where lasses dancing unco keen, 
Aft winking wi' their pawkie e'en, 

Sic glances gie 
As gart some wanton fellows £>reen 
For night that day. 

When some auld-farran nackie billie 
Hauls to his joe wl* mony a gillie, 
Wha shaws her breast as white's a lily 

And leggies tight, 
Gosh, could a priest restrain his willie 

In sic a plight. 

Sae to the whins frae 'mang the thrang 
Whiles ane or twa or sae wad gang, 
Whare tales o' love and eke a sang 

Shot time away, 
And youngsters got what they did lang 

For mony a day. 
Amang the lave was kintry Johny 
Wi' his joe, Meg, as braw as ony, 
Slic thought, nae doubt, hersel' as bonnic 

As ony theie, 
But Iwing or nigtjt her cockernony 

Was toualed sair. 
She, silly, simple, hame-bred hizzie 
Had never seen a rakish phizzy, 
Sae took frae chiels wha were right bizzy 

O' us-^u^bae, 



C 396 ) 

tin lack a nie, baith sick and dizey, 
Was she that day. 

At times like this, when chiels are skairin, 
Wi* ilka ane they meet a fairin» 
They'JI never stop to cry for mair in 

O' Uqwor dear, 
Bpt women fowk should ay be sparin 

O siccan gear. 

Forowre the. mind when drink presides, 
To pranks of sin and shame it guides, 
In wisdom's ways it never jvides, 

Rnt hrings to light 
A thousand fauts which reason hides 
Clear out o* si^^ht. 

By this time now, wJ* mony a dunner, 
T-lie srnns were rattlin aff like thunner ; 
AuM fowk wi* joints maist dung asunner, 

Were in dismay, 
For shcuther-blades t^ot mony a lunner 
Frae guns that day. 
Hech, SIC a weary wark was there 
n^ween mad ambition and base fear } 
It seldom fails, be't far or near, 

That mony a score 
Are keen o* trades which nature ne'er 
Desi|>n*d them for. 
Ae fellow there, poor silly calf, 
Held out his c:un, as*t been a staff, 
Tum*d back his head, tho* haff an* hafT^ 

He was, they say, 
And panting, cry*d, sirs, is she aff, 
Wi* fear that day. 
Anither chlel, Wae worth the loon, 
Rampag'd and cursM like a dragoon, 
But leaning on his hunkers down, 

To let her aff. 
He fird his breeks, which did confound 
And mak them laugh. 



( ^n ) 

Poor gowk, ne'er \nM v/i* wars alarms, 
Or taught to handle fire-arms, 
Jlis tears foresaw a thousand harms 
Approachmg fast, 
Till nature veilhir*; a' her charms 
Gie'd way at last. 

To crown the hale^ about the gloamin 
Tlie Siller Gun was won by no man :• 
Warse deeds hae gi*en to mony a Roman 

, Eternal fame ; 
But prodigies are grown sae common 
They've tint the name. 

Proud wi' their luck afore, tho' douce 
And quaint as ony half-fell'd mouse, 
E'en now the Taylor craw'd sae crouse, 

I'll gie my aith, 
Had ony ane cry'd, ' Prick the louse,* 

There had been skaith. 

Syne hame they gaed like magic spell, 
Some stoiter'd owre, and ithers fell ; 
AVhile mony a ane the muse could tell, 

Like new spain'd weans, 
Could neither gang unheld themsels 

Nor Stan* their lanes- 

But should the canty musey reel 
Owre a* the pranks o' ilka chiel. 
She'd may -be tramp on some sair heel 

O' dool and wae, 
Whas« nievcs wad aiblins gar her squeel 

For that some day. 

As in the course of some campain 
The grun is rover'd o'er wi' slain, 
Sue now in Barleycornian strain 

Ye eith might view 
Ahint the lave some fellows fain 

To lye and spew. 

* It was won by a lay lor. 



( 298 ) 

Ithers agabj justhaflT an* haff, 
Ay nichrin out the tither gaff, 
Dang niony a hat and wiggie aff 
In wanton play, 
Till, peace be here, wV nieve and staff 
They fought that day. 

As sparks frae flames their greatness reavj 
Aft daffin leads to bluidy weir ; 
It chanc'd a dainty souter here 

Like Crispin dresft'd, 
Had a* the robes which princes wear 

At birth-day feast. 

This day, tho* nought could happen droller, 
Bred the poor souter meikle dolour j 
A taylor-fellow, nae g^eat scholar, 

Wi' mony a bann, 
Took honest Crispin by the collar, 

And thus began. 

Tayior,..\t guid for naething souter hash, 
Tho* powther decks your carrot paslj, 
Tell me, I say, sin* griev*d I fash 

Withouten charter, 
What right ye hae to wear this sash, 

Or star and gaiter ? 

Cm//«,.. Let gang your grips, or by my saulj 
Were I but ance within nay stall, 
J3y a* that's gude, my peggin awl, 

Ye devil*! buckie. 
Should jag and tear you spaul frae spaul, 

Like ony chuckie. 

It sets ye weel indeed to jeer, 
Or question me for what I wear, 
I represent king Crispin here, 

While, fye for shame; 
Your lousy craft to manhood ne*er 

Could yet lay claim. 
Tby/w.—King Crispin, wale o* ilka loun 
That ever robb*d or rul'da town j 



( 29$ ) 

i mind to hear, like some baboon 

That apes its betters, 
He claimed pretensions to a crown 

An' deed in fettef s. 
Cris/iin... Insult my chieftain, ony place, 
Shall never ane o* taylor's race ! 
And, sir, ye've dar'd afore ray face 

His name to blacken, 
Ye'se either fight or dree disgrace 

To save your bacon. 
Agreed, quo' kie, when he faun 
Himsel in sic a bubble drawn, 
That tho* a taylor, Tm a man 

Yc'se own content, 
Else, as ye fin me, judge the clan 

I represent. 
Now expectation fill'd dach breast 
Wi* dread o' what might happen niest, 
Sae crouse the twa set up their criest 

Afore the tuilie ; 
Fowk thought in ither's wames at least, 

They'd sheath gullie. 

ArmM with the lapboard and the sheers ^ 
The taylor in the front appears 
While Crispin, wha in Charlie's weirs 

Had nobly bled, 
A hazel rung in triumph rears 

And dauntless said : 
Now tak thou warst o' worthless things i 
The vengeance due frae slighted Kings ; 
Wi' that his doublet aff he flings, 

And in a wee 
The cudgel or the lapboard rings 

Alternately. 
To see fair play, or help a frien', 
Fowk stammer'd frae a' airth's bedeen ; 
Auld wives to red them ran between 

Like Amazons, 



( SOO ) 

And nought w&b lit^ard syne owre the green 
Bui skiaiks an. I 'groans. 
Nor cou'd ye ken wi* nicest care 

Wha \von or wlm was lickct ikere ; 

Pell-mell they fought, foul play or fair 
W as a* the same. 

An' friens an' fats lay every where 

Baith blin* and lame. 

To comfort thae inch thick o' glar, 
His e'en jappan'cl, and chatts a char, 
Be thankfu', sirs, it is na war, 

(Quo* Yacdam Bryen) 
A lievin' dog is better far 

Than a dead lyon. 
Let ane, tho' crooked, tak a chappin, 
He'll think there's few mair tight or strappiu, 
Fu* croiisely will he cock his tappin 

Like man o' weir, 
Wha fresh had but a gun been snappin 
Would swat wi' fear. 
Sae was't that day, for rowth o* thae 
Wha wanting drink, nae mettle hae, 
Here mony a fearfu* lunner gae 

But dread or shame, 
Till they wV ribs baith black and blae 
Were draggled hame. 

When fowk are in a merry pin 
Weel fortify'd wi' Highland Gin, 
They'll eithly thole a weel pay'd skin, 

Like leather teugh , 
And neither care nor sorrow fin 
For lang eneugh. 
But soon as sober sense returns, 
Yestreen's debauch the drunkard mourns, 
lih feckless body aft he turns 

The pain to lay ; 
Sair griev'd baith head and heart-ache burns 
Wi* him niest d«-iv. 



Appendix. 

h. may gratify curiosity to know some particulars of the 
history of the preceding poems, on which the cele- 
brity of our bard has been hitherto founded; ahd with 
this view the following extract is made from a letter 
of Gilbert Burns, the brother of our poet, and his 
friend and confidant from his earliest years. 

Mossgiil, ad Jfiril, ir98. 
Dear Sir, 

YOUR letter of the Uth of March I 
received in due course, but from the hurry of the sea- 
son have been hitherto hindered from answering it. I 
vrill now try to give you what satisfaction I call in rc- 
l^ard to the particulars you mention. I cannot pretend 
to be very accurate in respect to the dates of the poems^ 
but none of them, except Winter^ a Dirge, (which \fa« 
a juvenile production) The Death and Dying worda ef 
ji<3or Maillie, anc! some of the songs? were composed 
before the year 1784. 'i he circumstances of the poor 
sheep were pretty much as he has described them. He 
had, partly by way of frolic, bought a ewe and two lambs, 
from a neighbour, and she was tethered in a field ad- 
joining the house at Lochlie. He and I were going out, 
"with our teams, and our two younger brothers to drive 
for us at mid-day ; when Hugh Wilson, a curious look- 
ing awkward boy, clad in plaiding, came to us with mucb 
anxiety in his face, with the information that the ewe 
had entangled herself in the tether, and was lying ia 
the ditch. Robert was much tickled with Huoc\ ap- 
pearance and postures on the occasion. Poor Mailiie 
was set to rights, and when we returned from the 
l)lough in the evening, he repeated to me her Death and 
dying Words pretty much in the way they now stand. 

Among the earliest of jiis i>oems was the Efuule (9 
Davie, Robert often composed without any regular 
plan. When any thing made a strong impression on 
nis mind, so as to rouse it to poetic exertion, he would 
give way to the impulse, and embody the thought in 
rh^me* If hfc hittm two or three stanzas to please hini) 



( 302 ) 

he would tlien think of proper introductory, connecting, 
and concluding stanzas; hence the middle of a poem 
was often first produced. It wag, I think, in the sum- 
mer bi 1784, when, in the interval of harder labour, he 
and I w?re weeding in the garden, (kail-yard) that he 
repeated to me the principal part of this epistle. I be- 
lieve the first idea of Robert's becoming an author was 
stated on this occasion. I was much pleased with the 
cpi'itlc, and said to him, I was of opinion it would bear 
being printed, and that it would be well received by peo- 
ple of taste ; that I thought it at least equal, if not supe- 
rior, to many of Allan Ramsay's epistles, and that the 
merit of these, and much other Scotch poetry, seemed 
to consist principally in the knack of the expression : 
but here, there was a strain of interesting sentiment, 
and the Scotticism of the language scarcely seemed at- 
fected, but appeared to be the natural language of the 
poet ; that besides there was certainly some novelty in 
a poet pointing out the consolations that were in store 
for him when he should go a-begging. Robert seemed 
very well pleased with my criticisms, and we talked of 
sending it to some Magazine, but as this plan afforded 
rio opportunity of knowing how it would take, the idea 
Avas dropped. 

It was, I think, in the winter following, as wc were 
going together with carts for coal to the family fire (and 
I could yet pohit out the particular spot) that the author 
first repeated to me the Jddress to the DeiL The curi- 
ous id«a of such an address was suggested to him by 
running over in his mind the many ludicrous accounts 
and representations we have from various quarters of 
this august personnge. Drath and D'>ct')r llombfiok^ 
though not i^ublished in the Kilmarnock 'edition, was 
produced early in the yejtr 1785. The School-master 
of Tarbolton parisli, to eke up the scanty subsistence 
allowed to that useful class of men, had set up a shop of 
Grocery good*. Having accidentally fallen in with some 
medical books, and become most hobby-horsically at« 
tached to the Jetudy of medicine, he had added tlu! sal« 
of a few medicines to his littlc\j tiMdc. ; ^Hc Kad.gat i 
shop-blll printed, at the lialtom of which, overlooking 



( SOS ) 

iiis own incap'acjty, he had advertised, that " Advice 
" would be given in common disorders at the shop, gra- 
tis." Robert was at a Mason-meeting in Tarbolton, 
when the Dominic unfortunately made too ostentatious 
a display of his medical skill. As he parted in the e- 
vening from this mixture of pedantry and physic, at the 
piiicc where he describes his meeting with death, one 
«f those floating ideas of apparition, which he mentions 
in his Ittier to Dr. Moore, crossed his mind; this set 
him to \\ork for the rest of tlie way home. These cir- 
cumstances he related wlien he rep;;ated the verses to 
me the next afternoon, as I was holding the plough, and 
he was letting the water off the field beside me. The 
Efiistle to John Lafivaik was produced exactly on the oc- 
casion describefl by the author. He says in that poem, 
On fasten-e'en tve had a rocki?:, 1 believe he has omit- 
ted the word rocking in the glossary It is a term deriv- 
ed from those primitive times, when the country wo- 
men employed their spare hours in spinning on the rock, 
or distaff*. This simple implement is a very portable 
one, and well fitted to the social inclination of meeting 
in a neighbour's house ; hence the phrase of gcintf a 
recking^ or ivich the rock. As the connexion the phrase 
had v»'jth the implement was forgotten when the rock 
fi^ave place to the spinning-wheel, the phrase came to be 
used by both sexes on social occasions, and men talk of 
going with t'leir rocks as well as women. 

It was at one of those rockings at our house, when 
'\ve had twelve or fifteen young people with their rocka, 
tiiat Lapraik's so!^g, beginning — " When I upon thy bo- 
t.oni lean," was sung, and we were ijifornied who was 
the author. Upon tiiis Robert wrolc his first epistle to 
Lupiaik, and his second in reply to his answer. The 
verses to the Al-juse^ and Motintain-Dc^isyw^vii compos- 
T;(i on the occasions mentioned, and waiic tne au.liDr 
was holding the plough ; I couid point out the pai-iicu- 
lar spot where each was composed. Holding the plough 
was a favourite situation vviih Rjb::rt for poetic comp;)- 
sitions, and some of his best v;irs;;s were produced while 
he was at tliat exercise. Several of the poems were 
produced for thej^urpose of bringing forward some fa- 



( 504 ) 

vourite sentiment of the author. He uicd to remarU ip 
me, that he could not well conceive a more mortifying 
picture of human life, than a man seeking work. In 
casting about in his mind how this sentiment might be 
brought forward, the elegy, Man was made to maurtty 
was composed. Robert had frequently remarked to me 
that he thought there was something peculiarly vencra* 
ble in the phrase, *' Let us worship God," used by a de- 
cent sober head of a family introducing family worship. 
To this sentiment of the author the world is indebted for 
the Cotter* fi Saturday JVigfit. The hint of the plan, and 
title of the poem, were taken from Ferguson's Farm- 
er*!} Ingle. When Robert had not some pleasure in view 
in which I was not thought fit to participate, we used 
frequently to walk together when the weath&i* was favor- 
abIe,on the Sunday afternoons, (those precious-breath- 
ing times to the labouring part of the community) and 
enjoyed such Sundays as woukl make one regret to sec 
their number abritlged. It was in one of these walks 
that I first had the pleasure of hearing the author i*e- 
peat the Cotter*^ Saturday .Night. I do not recollect to 
have read, or heard any thing by which I was more 
highly fltctiijied. The fifth and sixth stanzas, and the 
eighteenth, thrilled with peculiar extasy through my 
soul. I mention this to you, that you may see what hit 
the taste of unlettered criticism. I should be glad to 
know if the enlightened mind, and refined taste of Mr. 
Roscoe, who has borne such honourable testimony to 
this poem, agrees with me in the selection. Ferguson 
in his Haltoivfair of Edinburgh, I believe, likewise fur- 
nished a hint of the title and plan of the Holy Fair, 
The farsical scene the poet there describes was often a 
favorite field of his observation, and the most of the in- 
cidents he mentions had actually passed before iiis eyes. 
The Tale of Tiva Dogt was composed after the reso- 
lution of puWishing was nearly taken. Robert had had 
a dog, which he called Luath, that was a great favourite. 
The dog had been killed by the wanton cruelty of some 
person the night before m.y father's death, Robert said 
to me that he should like to confer such immortality as 
he could bestow^upon his old friend Luathy and that he 



( 505 ) 

had a f^rcat miiKi to introduce something into tl^e book 
tinder the title of Stanzas to the Memory of a quadrufud 
Friend } but this plan was given up for the Tale as it 
now stands. Camr was merely the creature of the po- 
et's imagination, created for the purpose of holdini^ chat 
with his favourite Luath, The first time R*»bert heard 
the spinnet played upon, was at the house of Dr. Law- 
we, then minister of the parish of Loudon, now in Glas- 
gow, having given up the parish in favour of his son. 
Dr. Lawrie has several daughters, one of them played j 
the father and mother led down the dance ; the rest of 
the sisters, the brother, the poet, and the other guetts, 
mixed in it. It v/as a delightful family scene for our 
poet,*then lately introduced to the world. His mind 
was roused to a poetic enthusiasm, and the stanzas, 
which he wrote, were left in the room where he slept. 
It was to Dr. Lawrie that Dr. Blacklock*s letter was 
addressed, which my brother, in his letter to Dr. Moore, 
mentions as the reason of his going to Edinburgh. 

When my idxhtvfeued his little property near Allo- 
way-Kirk, the wall of the church-yard had gone to ruin, 
and cattle had free liberty of pasturing in it. My father, 
with two or three other neighbours, joined in an appli-. 
caiion to the town council of Ayr, who were superiors 
of the adjoining land, for liberty to rebuild it, and raised 
by subscription a sum for inclosing this ancient cemc' 
tery with a wall ; hence he came to consider it as his 
burial place, and we learned that reverence for it, people. 
?*enerally have for the burial place of their ancestors. 
My brother was living in Eliisland, when captain Grose, 
in his peregrinations through Scotland, staid some time 
at Carse-house, in tlie neighbourhood, witli captain Ro- 
bert Riddel, of GleTi-Riddel, a particular friend of my 
brother's. The antiquarian and the poet were ** Unco 
" pack and thick thegither." Robert requested of cap- 
tain Grose, when he should come to Ayrshire, that he 
would make a drav/ing of /VUoway-Kirk, as it was the 
burial place of his father, and where he himself had a 
sort'of claim to lay down his bones, when they should b« 
Uo longer serviceable to him ; and added, by ^yay of en? 
D d 2 



'( 306 ) 

couragement, that it was the scene^of many a good sto- 
ry of witches and apparitions, of which he knew the 
captain was very fond. The captain agreed to the re- 
quest, provided the poet would furnish a witch-story to 
be printed along with it. Tarn o* Shanter was produced 
Oft this occasion, and was first published in Grose's An- 
tiquities of Scotland. 

This poem is founded on a traditional story. The 
leading circumstances of a man riding home very late 
from Ayr, in a stormy rright, his seeing a light in Alio* 
way-Kirk, his having the curiosity to look in, his seeing 
a dance of witches, with the devil playing on the bag- 
pipes to th»m, the scanty covering of one of the witches, 
which made him so far forget himself as to cry— ?f^<rr/ 
loufien short iark — with the melancholy catastrophe of 
the piece is all a true story, that can be well attested by 
inany respectable old peo^e in that neighbourhood. 

The Ca(f; — the poet had been with Mr. Gavin Ha- 
milton in the morning, who said jocularly to him when 
he was going to church, in allusion to the injunction of 
some parents to their children, tliat he must be sure to 
bring him a note of the sermon at mid-day ; this address 
to the Reverend Cientleman on hi» text was according;-^ 
ly produced. 

I do not at present recollect any circumstances res- 
pecting tlie other poems, that could be at all interesting ; 
even some of tliosie I have mentioned, I am afraid may 
appear trifling enough. 

If you hiave never seen the first edition, it will per- 
haps not be amiss to transcribe the preface that you 
may see the manner in which the po>::t made his first 
awe-slruck approach to the bar of public judgment. 
Prfface to t/iejirst edition of Burns* Poem^y fiublished 

at Kilmarnotk* 
" THE following trifles aie not the production of the 
"poet, who, with all the advantages of learned art, and 
" perhaps, amid the elegancies and idlenesses of upper 
" life, looks down for a rural theme, with an eye to Thco* 
" critus or Virgil. To the author of this, these and 
** other celebrated names, their countrymen, are, at 
" Iq^st, in their original langiiagei J/Quntain thuf vifit^ 



C 307 ) 

'' and a hook seaitd. Unacquainted with the nccesiary 
" rcquitites for commencing poet by rule> be sings the 
" sentiments and manners, he felt and saw in himself and 
*'hi^ rustic compeers around him, in his and their natWe 
" language. Though a rhymer from his earliest years, 
** at least, from the earliest impulses of the softer pas- 
** sions, it was not till very lately, that the applause, per- 
*' haps the partiality of friendship, wakened his vanity so 
*''*' far as to make him think any thing of his worth show- 
" ing ; and none of the following works were composed 
" with a view to the press. To amuse himself with the 
•* little creations of his own fancy, amid the toil and fa- 
** tigues of a laborious life ; to transcribe the various fecl- 
" ings, the loves, the griefs, the hopes, the fears^ in his 
" own breast ; to find some kind of counterpoise to the 
" struggles of a world, always an alien scene, a task un- 
" couth tothepoeticaLmind — these were his motives for 
"couiting the muses, and in these he found poetry to 
*' be its own reward. 

" Now that he appears in the public character of an 
^* author, he does it with fear and trembling. So dear is 
" fame to the rhymiog tribe, that even he, ar» obscure* 
"nameless Bard, shrinks aghast at the thoughts of 
** being branded as— An impertinent blockhead, obtrud- 
" ing his nonsense on the world ; because he can make 
" a shift to jingU a few doggerel Scotch rhymes togeth- 
" er, looking upon himself as a poet of no small consc- 
** quence forsooth ! 

" Ft is an observation of that celebrated pdet, Shen- 
** stone, whose divine elegies do honour to our language, 
*' cur nation and our species, that, * Humility has de- 
** pressed many a genius to a hermit, but never raised 
** one to fame !* If any critic catches at the word geyiiusy 
**the author tells him once for all, that he certainly looks 
*' upon hinkself as possessed of some poetic abilities, oth- 
" erwise his publishing in the manner he has done, 
** would be a manoeuvre below the worst character, 
*' which he hopes, his worst enemy will ever give him. 
*' But to the genius of a Ramsay, or the glorious dawn- 
** ings of the poor, unfortunate Ferguson, he, with equal 
" unaffected sincerity, declares, that, even in hi% highest 



( 30S ) 

*• pulse of vanity, he has not the most distant pretea- 
" sions. These two justly admired Scotch poets he has 
** often had in his eye'' in the foliqwing pieces ; but ra- 
« ther with a view to kindle at their ilame> than for ser- 
" vile imitation.** 

* * n * It * 

I am, dear Sir, 

Your most obedient humble Servant, 

GILBERT BURNS. 
Dr. Currie, 



GLOSSARY. 



THE ch and gh have always the gutteral sound. The 
sound of the English diphthong oo, is commonljr 
spelled OM, The French «, a sound which often oc- 
curs in the Scottish language, is marked, oo, or wi!^ 
The a in genuine Scottish words, except when form* 
ing a diphthong, or followed by an e mute after a sin- 
gle consonant, sounds generally like the broad En- 
glish a in wfl//. The Scottish diphthong se, always, 
and eoj very often, sound like the French e masculine. 
The Scottish diphthong ry, sounds like the l-.atin ei^ 

A 



^', All 


Aivartg, among 


jiback^ away, aloof 


An\ and, if 


jideighj at a shy distance 


Anccy once 


,/ldoon^ above, up 


Ane^ one, aad 


Jbread^ ixhxOdQ], in sight 


Anent^ over against 


Jireedj in breadth 


Anithtr, another 


^f, one 


Ate, ashes 


*iff\ off; Affloofy unpreme- 


. Aakhnty asquint, aslant 


ditated 


Aftetr, abroad, stirring 


jifore^ before 


jithort, athwart 


4ft, oft 


Aught y possession ; as in a* 


Aft en ^ often 


m\j aught, in all my pos- 


Agley^ off the right line 


, session 


wrong 


Aulu\ old 


Jiblinfy perhaps 


Auldfarran, or auldf arrant. 


Jau own 


sagacious, cunning, pru- 


Aim, iron 


dent 


Airl'fiennyy earnest-money 


Auld lang syne, old in tiroc^ 


Aith^ an oath. 


days of other years. 


Ait8y oats 


Ava, at all 


Aivcvy an old horse 


Awa% away 


Jizle^ a hot cinder 


Aw/u*, awful 


Alake^ alas 


Awn, the beard of barley, 


Alancy alone 


oats, &c. 


Akwarif aukward 


Awnie, bearded 


Amahtj almost 


Ayont, beyond 



B 



BA\ Ball 



Backets^ ash boards 



( 310 ) 

Backlins^ comin', coming Big^ to build 

back, returning Biggin, building, a house 

7?ar/5 did bid Biggit^ built 

Baide^ endured, did stay Bill, a bull 
Baggie^ the belly Billie, a brother, a young 

BainiCf having large bones, fellow 

stout -^i^gy a heap of grain, po- 

Bairn, a child tatoes, &c. 

Bairntime, a family of ciiil- Blrk, birch 

dren, a brood Birkic, a clever fellow 

Baith) both Birring^ the noise of par- 

Ban, to swear tridi^es, Sec. when they 

Bane, bone spring. 

Bang, to beat, to strive Birkin-S/iai9, Birchen -luood 

Bardie diminuiivc of bard shanv, a small wood 
Barijit^ baiefooted Bii, crisis, nick of time 

Barmie, of, or like Ijarm Bizz, a bustle, to buzz 
Batch, a crew, a gang Blantle, a shrivelled dwarf, 

Baits, botts a term of contempt 

Baudrons, a cat Blasti:, blasted 

Bauid, bold Bla/r, bashful, sheepish 

Ba'wk, bank Blather, bladder 

Baws*t2t, having a white Bland, u flat piece of any 

stripe down the face thing, to sJap 

Be, to lei be, to i^ive over, IJlaiv, to blow, to boast 

to cease J.Ucezing, blazing 

Bear, barley Blecrt and lUin, bleertd and 

B.'Ofitie, dimin. of btast bliiid 

Beet, to add fuel to fire Blcerit, bleared, sore with 
Beld, ban Id rheum 

Belyve, bye and bye Bi-llum, idle talking fellow 

i>/2, into thespence orpar- ^/('/"/^fr, to talk idly, non- 



lour 



sense 



P-cntomond, a noted moun- Blclh'rin, talking idly 

tain in Dumbartonshire Blink, a little while, a smil- 
BethankU, grace after meal ing look, to look kindly, 
Beuk, a book to shine by fits. 

Bicker, a kind of wooden /?/z«A:rr, a term of contempt 

dish, a short race Blinkin, smirking 

Bie,ov Bi'ld, shelter Bluntie, snivelling 

Bien^ weah'iy, plentiful BIul- gni) i, one of thtiSe 



( 311 ) 

beggars who get annual- curb for horses 
ly on the king's birth- Brash, a sudden illness 
day, a blue cloak or Brat9, coarse clothes, ragSj 
gown, with a badge Sec. 

Biudcy blood Brattle, a short race, hur- 

Blyfiey a shred, a large ry, fury 

piece Braw^ fine, handsome 

Bockj to vomit, to gush in- Bratvlyt, or brawlie, very 

termittently well, finely, heartily 

Backed^ gushed, vomited Braxif, a morbid sheep 
Bodle, a small copper coin Breastie, dimin. of breast 
Bonnie, or bonney, hand- Brea«tit, did spring up or 

some, beautiful forward 

Bogles, spirits, hobgoblins BreeJ, an invulnerable or 
Bormcck, a kind ol thick irresistible spell 
cake of bread, a small Breeks, breeches 
jannack or loaf made of ^r cm ^.smooth 
oatmeal Brewin, brewing 

Bohrd, board Brie^ juice, liquid 

Bore, a hole in a wall B-rig, a bridge 

Bocr-tree, the shrub elder ; Brunstane, brimstone 
planted much of old in Brisket, the breast, the bo- 
hedgesofbarn-y'A!ds,Scc. som 

Boost, behoved,' must jBrrV/i<rr, a brother 

needs Brock, a badger 

Botck. an angry tun^our Brogue, a hum, a trick 
Btusing, drinking Broo, broth, liquid, water 

Bovk, vomiting, gushing Broose, a race at coun- 
Bow-kail, cabbage try weddings, who shall 

Boivs, bended, crooked first reacli ths bridc- 

Brackene, fern groom's house on rc- 

Z>Vf7r, a declivity, a preci- turning from church 

pice, the slope of a hill Brvgh, a burt^h 
Braid, broad, Brulzie, a broil, a combus- 

Bra/k, a kind of harrow tion 

Braiyigr, to run rashly for- Brunt, did lurn, burnt 
ward Brur.t, to bviisl, burst 

Braign*!, reeled forward Buchan-buUcns, the boiling 
Brak, broke, made insol- , of the sea auioug the 
vent rocks on the coast of 

Bracks, a kindofwCoden Kuchar^ 



( 3H ) 

JSuckskifty 2M inhabitant of JSurCf did bcair 

America JBume^vhi, i. c. bum the 

Bughtin-titM, the time of loind^ a blacksmith 
collecting the sheep in J?«rw/V, dimin. of burn 
the pens to be milked j?»m, or Burnie^ a water, 

Bnght^ a pen a rivulet 

Buirdly, stout made, broad Buskie, bushy 
built Buskit^ dressed 

Bum-clock^ a humming bee- Busle^ a buttle, to bustle 
tie that flies in the sum- Bu**, shelter 
mer evenings ^u/, i^o/, without 

Bumming^ humming as JSut an* beriy the country 
bees kitchen and parlour 

^WTTiTw/r, to blunder By himself^ lunatic, dis. 

Bumtnler, a blunderer tracted 

Bunker, a window seat Byke, a bee-hive 

BurdieSf dimin. of birds Byre, a cow hou9e 



CJl% to call to name, to Cantraip, a charm, a spell 
drive Cafi-Btane, cope stone, key 

CaU or ea*d, called, driven stone 

calved Careerin, cheerfully 

Cadger^ a carrier Carl^ an old man 

Cadie, or caddie, a person, CarlinyO. stout old woman 
a young fellow Cartes, cards 

Cajf, chaff Caudron, a caldron 

Caird, a tinker Cauk and keel, chalk and 

Cairn, a loose heap of red clay 
stones CMuld, cold 

Calf-xvard, a small enclo- Cauft, a wooden drinking 
sure for calves vessel 

Callan, a boy Cesses, taxes 

Caller, fresh, sound, re- Chanter, a part of a bag- 
freshing pipe 

Connie, gentle, mild, dex- Chafi, a person, a fellow, a 
trous blow 

Cannilie, dextrously, gently Chaup, a stroke, a blow 

Cantie, or canty, cheerful, CheekiJ, checked 
mctry Ckecp^ a cliirp, ^o chirp. 



( 313 ) 

Chiei, or cheely a young fel- Chot, the hoof of a cow, 

low sheep, &c. 

Chimla^ or cMmlie^ a fire- Clootie^ an old name for the 

grate, fire-place Devil 

Chimlo'lug^ the fire-side Clour^ a bump or swelling 
Chittering^ shivering, trem- after a blow 

bling Ciuds, clouds 

Chockiny choaking Coaxin^ wheedling 

ChoWy to chew ; Cheek Jor Cohle^ a fishing boat 

c/ww, side by side Cockernony-i a lock of hai^ 

Chuffie, fat faced tied upon a girl's head, 

Oac/ian, a small village a- a cap 

bout a church, a hamlet Co/i, bought 
Claise^ or claes^ cloathes Cog^ a wooden dish 
C/c/M, cloth Co^'^iif, dimin. of cog. 

Claithingy cloathing Coila, from Kyle^ a dis- 

Claivcrs, nonsense, not trict of Ayrshire, so cal- 

spcaking sense led, saith tradition, from 

Cla/i, clapper of a mill Coil, or Coilus, a Pictish 

Clarkiti wrote monarch 

Clashy an idle tale, the story ColUshmgie, quarrelling 

of the day Collie^ a general, and some- 

ClatteVf to tell little idle sto- times a particular name 

ries, an idle story for country curs 

Claughty snatched at, laid Commaun^ command 

hold of Coody the cud 

Chut, to clean, to scrape Coof, a blockhead a ninny 
Clauied, scraped Cookit, appeared, and disap- 

Clawy to scratch peared by fits 

C/adi cloathed Coostf did cast 

Cleekii, having caught Coot^ the ankle or foot 

Clinking jerking, clinking Cootie^ a wooden kitchen- 
Clinkumbell^ who rings the dish—also those fowls 

church bell whose legs are clad with 

Clifisy sheers feathers, are said to bp 

Clislnnaclaver^ idle conver- cootie 

sation C§rdies, a species of the 

Clocki to hatch, a beetle crow 

Clcjckin^ hatching Cor^, corps, party, clan 

B t 



( 314 ) 

Corn-t^ fed with oats Croon, a hollow and con- 

Cotter^ the inhabitant of a tinued moan ; to make 
cot-house or cottage a noise like the continu- 

{7ow;//7>, kind, loving ed roar of a bull; to 

Co-v€^ a cove hum a tunc 

Coivt',, to tei rify, to keep un- Crooning^ humming 
del", to lop; a fright, a C'rowcArV, crook-backed 
branch of furze, broom, Crouae^ cheerful, courage- 
Sec, ous 
Ceivp^ to barter, to tumble Crously^ cheerfully, cour- 

ovcr, a gang ageously 

Cowfiii^ tumbled Crowdie, a composition of 

Coivrin^ shrinking with fear oat-meal and boiled wa- 
Cotvte^ a colt ter, sometimes from 

Cozicy snug the broth of beef, mut- 

Cozily, snugly ton, &c. 

Crabbit^ crabbet, fretful Cronvdie'time, brcakfast- 
CracA", conversation, to con- time 

verse * Croivlin^ crawling 

Crackings conversing Crummocki a cow with 

Crmft^ or croft, a field near crooked hortis 

2k hoMSt^i in old husbandry Crump y hard and brittle, 
Craiksy cries or calls inces- spoken of bread, 

santly, a bird Crunt, a blow on the head 

Crambo-clink, or crambo- with a cudgel 
jingle, rhymes, doggrel Cuif, a blockhead, a ninny 
verses Cummock, a short staff with 

Crank, the noise of an un- a crooked head 
greased wheel Curchie, a curtsey 

Crankons, fretful, captious. Curler, a player at a game 
Cranreuch, the hoar frost on the ice, practised in 

Crap, a crop to crop Scotland, called curling 

Craw, a crow of a cock, vl Cur lie, curled whose hair 
rook falls naturally in ringlets 

CreeL a basket ; to have Curling, a well known 
ove*(i tuit* in a ereel, to be game on ice 
craz'd, to be fascinated Curmurring, murmuring, a 
Creeshicy greasy slight rumbling noise 

Crood, or -croud, to coo as Curpinj a crupper 
a dove 



( 315 ) 

Cuithat, the dove, or wood Cutty^ short, a spooTJ bro- 
pigeon- ken in the middle 

D 

DADDIE^ a father Dnnsic, unlucky 

Daffifiy merriment, foolish- Dool, sorrow, to aing dool, 

ness to lament, to mourn 

Dafty merry, giddy, foolish Doosy doves 
Daimen, rare, now and Dorty^ saucy, nice 

then, dnirnen-icker^ an ear Douce, or doufe^ sober, 

of corn now and then wise, prudent 

Dainty^ pJvasant good hu- Doucely, soberly, prudently 

moured, agreeable Doughty was or were able 

Dales, plains, vallies /)o7^/2, backside 

Darklins, darkling Doup'skfifier, one that 

Daud, to thrash, to abuse strikes the tail 

Daur, to dare Doure, stout, durable, stub- 

Daurt, dared born, sullen 

Daurg, or daurky a day's Dour and din, sullen and 

labour slow 

Davoc, David Douser, more prudent 

Dawd, a large piece Dow, am or able, can 

Dawtit, or danuiet, fondled, Do'voff, pithless, wanting 

carressed force 

Dearies, dimin, of dears Dcwie, worn with grief, 
Dearthfu\ dear fatigue, &c. half asleep 

Deave, to deafen Dowiia, am or not able, 

Deil-ma-care ! no matter ! canr.ot 

for ail that ! Doylt, stupid 

Delcerity delirious Drafi, a drop, to drop, 

DescriHe, to describe Drajifnng, dropping 

Dight, to wipe, to clean Z)r<'r//, to ooze, to drop 

corn from chaff Dreigh, tedious, long about 

Dight, cleaned from chaff it 
Dirma, do not Drlddle, drizzling, sLivci" 

Ding, to worst, to push Drift, a drove 

Dirl, a slight tremulous Droddum, the breech 

stroke or pam D-^-one, part of a b.ig-pipe 

Dizzen, or diz^n, a dozen Droofi rum/iVt, that droops 
Doited, stupified, at the cruppek' 

Doltj stupified, crazed Droukit^ wet 



( 316 ) 



Draunting, drawling^ 
Drouth^ thirst, drought 
Drucken, drunken 
Drumly, muddy 
Drum?nock^ raeal and wa- 
ter mixed raw 
Brunt^ pet, sour humour 
Duh. a small pond 
Buds^ cagSj clothes 



DuddiCf ragged 

Dung^ worsted, pushed, 

driven 
Dunted, boxt 

Dush^ topush at a ram, Sec. 
Dusht^ pushed by a raiii, 

ox, Sec. 
Dyvory insolvent 



£*£, the eye 
jEVw, the eyes 
£*e?ie7iy evening 
Eerie, frighted, 

spirits 
Mild^ old age 
Elbuck^ the elbow 



Eldritch^ ghastly, frightful 
Fm\ end 

Enbkugh, Edinburgh 
dreading Eneugh^ enough 

Esjiecial, especially 
Ettlcy to fry, attempt 
Eydentj diligent 

F 



Eji% fall, lot to fall 
Ea's^ does fall, water-falls 
FaddomU fathomed 
Fae^ a foe 
Facm^ foam 
Faikety unknown 
Fairiny a fairing, a pre- 
sent 
Falloiv^ fellow 
Fand^ did find 
Fail, a cake of bread 



Fearfu*, frightful 

FearUy frighted 

Featy neat, spruce 

Fecht^ to fight 

Fechtin. fighting 

F,ecky many, plenty 

Fecket^ waistcoat 

Feckfu\ large, brauny «tout 

Feckless^ puny, weak, silly 

Feckly, weakly 

Feg^ a;., fig 



Fush, trouble, care, to trou- Feidcj feud, enmity 



ble, to care for 
Fasht^ troubled 
Fastereen-eeuy Fastens Eve 
Fauld, a fold, to fold 
Fauldingy folding 
Fauty fault 

F'gwsonty decent, seemly 
Fealy a field, smooth 



Fell^ keen, biting ; tha 
flesh immediately under 
the skin, a field pretty 
level, on the side or top 
of a hill 
Fendy to live comfortably 
FeJi, successful struggle? 
fight 



( 3ir ) 

Fell, soft, smooth tition between two horses 

Ferlie^ or ferly, to Wonder in a stable, a flail 

a wonder, a term of con- Flisk^ to fret at the yoke 

tempt Fliskit^ fretted 

Fetch^ to pull by fits Flitter, to vibrate like the 

Fetch't, pulled intermittent- wings of small birds 

ly Flittering, fluttering, vibra- 

F'tdge, to fidget ting 

Fient, fiend, a petty oath Flunkie, a servant in livery 
Fier, sound, healthy ; a Foord^ a ford 

brother, a friend Forbears, forefathers 

Fislc, to make a rustling Forbye, besides 

noise, to fidget, a bustle For/aim, distressed, worn 
Fit, a toot out, jaded 

Fittie-lan, the near horse, Forfoughtt^n, fatigued 

of the hindmost pair in Forgather, to meet, to en- 

the plough counter with 

Fizz, to make a hissing Forgie, to forgive 

noise, like fermentation Forjesket, jaded with fa- 
Flaiyien, flannel, fatigue 

Fleech, to supplicate in a Father, fodder 

flattering manner Fou*, full, drunk 

Fieechin, supplicating Fought en, troubled, harras- 

Fleech'd, supplicated sed 

Fleesh, a fleece Fouth, plenty, enough, or 

Fleg, a kick, a random more than enough 

blow Fonv, a bushel, 8cc. also a 

Flether, to decoy by fair pitchfork 

words Frac, from 

FUiherin, flattering Frcath, froth 

Fley, to scare, to frighten Frien*, friend 
Flichter, to flutter, as youyyg Fu* full 

nestlings, when their dam Fud, the scut or tail of the 

a/i/iroaches hare, cony. Sec. 

Flickering, to meet, tQ en- Fr/fy to blow 

counter with Fuff't, did blow 

Flinders, sherds, broken jP^mmV, full of merriment 

pieces Fzir, a furrow 

Flingin-tree, a piece of tim- Furm, a form, bench 

ber hung by way of par- Fyke, trifling cares \ to pid- 
Ee 3 



( 318 ) 

die, to be in a fuss about Fyle^ to soil, to dirty 
trifles Fyl*f., soiled, dirtied 

G 

GJBf the mouth, to speak to two years old 

boldly, or pertly Gin^ if, against 

GabcT'lunzie, an old man Gifisey^ a young girl 
Gadsinan, plough-boy, the Girn, to grin, to twist the 
boy that drives the hor- features in rage, agony, 
ses in the plough &c, 

Gae, to go ; gaed^ went ; Girning, grinning 
gaen ovgane^ gone, gaun, Gizz^ a periwig 
going Glaikit, inattentive, foolish 

Gael or gate, Avay, manner, Glaive^ a sword 

road Gcw'^i/, halfwitted, foolish 

Gang, to go, to walk Glaizie, glittering, smooth, 

Gar, to make, to force to like a glass 
Gar*ty forced to G/aw/nV, aimed, snatched 

Garten, a garter Gled, a hawk 

Gash, wise, sagacious, tal- Gleek, sharp, ready 

kative, to converse Gleib, glebe 

Gashin, conversing Gler, dale, deep valley 

GtLucy, jolly, large Gleg, sharp, ready 

Gear, riches, goods of any Gley, a squint, to squint! 

kind off at a side, wrong 

Geek, to toss the head in Glig-gahbet, that speaks 

wantonness, or scorn smoothly and readily 

Ged, a pike Glint, to peep 

Genfle.t, great folks Glintefii peeped 

Geordic, a guinea , Glintin, peeping 

Get, a child, a young one Gloamin^ the twilight 
Ghaist^ a ghost Glowr, lo stare, to look, a 

Gi'e, io give; gfed, gave; stare, a look 

gfen, given Glowr cd, looked, stared 

Giftie, dimin of gift Goivan, the flower of the 

Giglets, playful girls daisy, dandelion, hawk- 

Gilie, dim. of gill weed, &c. 

XriJ/iey, a half grown, half Gowamj glens, daisied dales 
informed boy or girl, a Goivd^ gold 
romping lad, a hoyden Gowff, the game of golf ; 
Giiniur, an ewe from one to strike as tht; hat does 



( 319 ) 

the ball at golf loosing game 

Gowjff''d, struck Groanseme, loathsomely, 

Gowk, a cuckoo, a term of grim 

contempt Grozet, a gooseberry 

Goxvl, to howl Grumfih, a grunt, fo grunt 

Grane, or ^rain, a groan, to Grumphie, a sow 

groan Grun\ ground 

Grain'dy groaned Grunstane, a grindstone 

Graining, groaning Gruntle, the phiz, a grunt- 

Grained ^ Gaunted, groan- ing noise 

ed and grunted Grunzie, mouth 

Graip, a pronged instru- Grushie, thick, of thriving 

ment, for cleaning sta- growth 

bles GUDE, THE SUPREME BB- 

Graith, accoutrements, fur- ing ; good 

niture, dress Guid, good 

Graith, gears Guid-mornin, good morrow 

Grannie, grandmother Guid-c*en, good evening 

Grape, to grope Guidman and guidivife, the 

Grapit, groped master and mistress of 

Grat, wept, shed tears the house y young guid- 

Grat, intimate, familiar man, a man newly mar- 

Gree, to agree ; to bear the ried 

gree, to be decidedly vie- Guidfather, Guidmother, a- 

tor ^ thcr-in-law, and mother- 

Gree^t, agreed in-law 

Greetin, crying, weeping Gully, or gullie, a large 
Gripet^ catched, seized knife 

Groat, to get the whistle of Gumlie, muddy 

one's groat, to play a Gu«/i/, tasteful 

H 

Z/"^', hall //i/#w*, nearly half, partly 

Ha' -bible, the great bible //c^, a scar, or gulf in mos- 

that lies in the hall ses and moors 

Hae, to have Haggis, a kind of pudding 

Haen, had, the participle boiled in the stomach of 

Jfaet, Jient'haet, a petty a cow or sheep 

oath of negation, nothing Jla'in^ to spare, to save 
Haffct, the temple, the side flain'd, spared 

of the head Hairst, harvest 



( 320 ) 

Ipith, a petty oath Healaomcy healthful, whole- 

Haivcra, nonsenscj speak- some 

ing without thought Hearse, hoarse 

Hal\ or hold, an abiding* Hear*t, hear it 

place Heather, heath 

Hale, whole, tight, healthy Hech I oh ! strange 
Hame, home Hecht, promised to foretel 

Hallatiy a particular parti- something that is to be 

tion wall in a cottapje, or got or given ; foretold ; 

more properly a seat of the thing foretold 

turf, at the outside Hecht, offered 

Hallowmas, Hallow-eve, the Heckle, aboard in which are 

SI St of October fixed a number of sharp 

Haly, holy pins, used in dressing 

Hamtly, homely, affable hemp, flax, Sec. 

Hari* or Haun, hand Heeze, to elevate, to raise 

Hafi, an outer garment, Helm, the rudder or helm 

mantle, plaid, Sec. to Herd, to tend flocks, one 

wrap, to cover, to hap who tends flocks 

Hapfier, a hopper Hcrrin, a herring 

Hafi fling, hopping Herry, to plunder, most firo^ 

Hafi step, an'' loufi, hop, skip pcrly to hlunder birds*- 

and leap nests 

Harkit, hearkened, Herry ment, plundering, de- 

Harn, very coarse linen vastation 

Hash, a fellow that neither Hersel, herself, also a herd 

knows how to dress nor of cattle, of any sort 

act with propriety Het, hot 

h^astit, hastened Heugh, a crag, a coal-pit 

Hand, to hold Hilch, a hobble, to halt 

J-Janghs, lying low, rich HUchin, halting 

lands, valleys Himself himself 

Haurl, 10 drag, to peal Hing, to hang 

Haurlin, peeling Hiney, honey 

Haver el, a halfwitted per- Hirfile, to walk crazily, to 

son, halfwitted creep 

JJavins:, good manners, de- Hissel, so many cattle as 

corum, good sense one person can attend 

Haivkie, a criw , Jirolierly one Hislie, dry, chapt, barren 

nvith a nvhitejace Hitcht, a loop, a knot 

Ileafiit, heaped Hizzie, hussy, a young 



( 321 ) 

girl Houghmagandie^ fornicati" 

Hoddiitf the motion of a on 

sage country man, rid- Houlet^ or Hoivlet^ an owl 

in|^ on a cart horse, Ilousie^ dimin. of house 

humble Hovc^ to heave, to s\reU 

Nog-score^ a kind of dis- Hov*d, heaved, swelled 
' tance line, in curling, Hoivdie, a midwife 

drawn across the rink Howe^ holloAV, a hollow or 
Hog-shautfier^ a kind of dell 

horse play, by jolting Honvpbackit sunk in the 

with the shoulder ; to back, fffioken of a hor&e 

jostle ^c. 

Hool^ outer skin or case, a Honoff^ a landlady, a houSfe 

nut-shell, pease swad of resort 

Hoolie^ slowly, leisurely Honvk^ to dig 
Noolie ! take leisure, stop Hotvkify digc:ed 
Hoord^ a lioard ; to hoard Howtin, digging 
Hoordet, hoarded ^oy^ to urge 

Horn^ a spoon made of HnyU^ urged 

horn Hoysc^ a pull upwards 

Hornie^ one of the many Hoyte^ to amble crazily 

names of the devil Hughoc^ dimm. of Hugh 

Host^ or hoatty to cough Hurcheon, a hedgehog 
Hostin^ coughing Hurdles the loins, the 

Hotch^d^ turned topsy-tur- crupper 

vey, blendod, mixed HiisMon^ cushion 

I 

P, in ciously, niggardly 

Ickrr^ an car of corn Ingine^ genius, ingenuity 

Jer-oe^ a great grand-child Ingle, fire, fire-place 
Ilk, or Ilka^ each, every Ise^ 1 shall or will 
lU'iviiliey ill-natured, mali- Ither, other, one another 

J 
JJD, Jade; also a famx- Jaufi, a. jerk of water; to 
liar term among coun- jerk as agitated water 
try folks for a giddy Jaw, coarse raillery, to 
young girl pour out, to shut, to jerk 

Jauk, to dally, to trifle as water 

Jaukin, trifling, dallying Jiltet, a jilt, a giddy girl 



( 322 ) 

Jimfi^ to jump, slender in Jirt^ a jerk 

the waJRt, handsome Joctekg^ a folding knife 

Jitik^ to dod'tje, to turn a Jouk-, to stoop, to bow the 
corner, a sudden turn- h^ad to 
in^, a corner Jow^ to jotUf a verb which 

Jinker^ that turns quickly, includes both the swing* 
a gay sptightly girl, a ing; motion and pealing 
wag sound of a large bell 

Jinkin^ dodging JundU-, to justle 

K 
KAE^ a daw Kintrg-cooser^ country stal* 

Kaily cole wort, a kind of lion 

broth Kirn^ the harvest supper, a 

Kail'vunt^ the stem of cole- churn 

wort Kirsen, to christen, to bap- 

Kain^ fowls, Sec. paid as tize 

rent by a farmer JTwf, chest, a shop, a coua- 

Xcdhuck, a cheese ter 

Keek^ a peep, to peep Kitchen, any thint? that 

Kclfiies^ a sort of mis- eats with bread, to serve 

chicvous spirits, said for soup, gravy, Sec. 

to haunt fords, and fer- Kith^ kindred 

ries at night, especially Kittk^ to tickle, ticklish, 

in storms difficult 

AV«, to know, kendy or ken* t^ K'ttlhi, a young cat 

knew Kuir*d^ covered, shaded 

Kenwn, a small matter Kuitile to cuddle 
Ken-f/ieckicy well known Kuittlin, cuddiint;' 
Ket, matted, hairy, a fleece JCnaggiey like knags^ or 

of wool points of rocks 

Kiaugh, carking, anxieiy Knufi/iin^ hammer, a ham- 
KilCy to truss up the mcr for breaking stones 

clothes Knoive, a small round hil- 

Kimrner, a young girl, a iif^iMr/, dwarf [lock 

gossip Kye^ cows 

Kin\ kindred Kyle, a district in Ayr- 

JCm\ kind shire 

Kin^*ffhoody a certain part Kyte^ the belly 

of the entrails ©fan oXyICy(/te, to discover, to shew 
Xintruy country one's self 



( S3S ) 

L 

JLjiDDIE^ dimin. oriad Ubbet^ gelded 
JLaggen, the angle between Lijt^ sky 

the side and bottom oi Lightly, »neeringly, to 

a wooden dish sneer at 

JLaig/iy low i//^, a ballad, a tunc^ to 

Lairing^ wading and sink- sing 

ing in snow, mud, Sec. Limmer^ a kept tnistrcsSi 
Laithy loath a strumpet 

Laithfu\ bashful, sheepish Limfi*ty limped, hobbled 
Lallans, Scottish dialect Link, to trip along 
Lambie, dimin. of lamb Linkin, tripping 
Limfiit, a kind of shell- Linn, a waterfall 

fish Linn, a precipice 

Lan*, land, estate Lint, flax, linti* tkebell, flax 

Lanc^ lone, my lane, thy in flower 

lane, &c. myself alone Lintwhite^ a linnet 
Lanely, lonely Loan, or loanin, the place of 

Lang, long, to think lang, milking 

to long, to weary Loof, the palm of the hand 

Lap, did leap Loot^ did let 

Lave, the rest, the remain- Looves, phcrai oflotf 

der, the others Loun, a fellow, a ragamuf- 

Laverock, the lark fin, a womaa of easy vir- 

Laivlan, lowland tuc 

Lawn, shot, reckoning Loup, jump, leap 

bill Lowe, a flame 

Lea'e, to leave Loivin, flaming 

Lcttl^ loyal , true, faithful Loivrie, abbreviation cf 
Lear, lare, leai-ning Lawrence 

Lea-rig, grassy rid^c Loitse, to loose 

Leesome, pleasant Lows*d, loosed 

Lee-lung, live-long Lug, the ear, a handle 

Leeze me, a phrase of coh- Lugget, having a handle 

gratulatory endearnicni Luggi'e, a small woodew 

I am happy in thee, or dish with a handle 

proud of Ihee Lum, the chimney 

Leister, a tliree pronged Lunch, a large piece of 

dart, for striking fi.sh cheese, flesh, &c. 

Leugh, did laugh Lunt a column of smoke, 

Leuk, a look, to look to smoke 



( 324 ) 



Luntiny smoaking 

Lyarty of a mixed colour, 

M 

MAEi more in number 
Mailing farm 
MaiVf more in quantity 
Maist, most, almost 
Maistly, mostly 
J^aky to make 
Makiriy making 
MalUey Molly 
Mangy among 
Manscy the parsonage 



grey 



Melly to meddle. Also a 
mallet for poinding bar- 
ley in a stone trough 
Mttvicy to soil with meal 
Men\ to mend 
Mtnaey good manners, de- 
corum 
Mrnseless, ill-bred, rude, 

impudent 
Messiuy a small dog 
house, where the minis- Middeny a dunghill 
ter lives Midden-hohy a gutter at the 

Manteely a mantle bottom of a dunghill 

Marky marks. This and Miniy prim, affectedly, 
several other nouns which Min\ mind, remembrance 
in English require an « MindUy mind it, resolved, 
to form the plural, are in intending 
Scotch, like the words, Minnicy mother, dam 
#A(?<?/2, deevy the same inMirky or mirkcBty dark» 
both numbers darkest 

jbfer*« year, the year, \7\5 Misca, to abuse, to call 
Mashluniy iucsUriy mixed names 

corn Misca^dy abused 

Masky to mash as malty &c. Mialear'd mischievous, un- 
Maskin-fiaty a tea-pot , mannerly 

Maukiuy a hare Misteuky mistook 

Mutiny must Mithevy a mother 

Mavisy the thrush Mixte-maxticy confusedly 

Maioy to mow mixed 

Mawiny mowing Moistifyy to moisten 

Meevy a mare Monijy or monies many 

Mdcklcy much Moopy to nibble as a sheep 

MelanchoUou8y mournful Mo9rUi?iy of or belonging to 
Mtldei'y corn or grain of moors 

any kind sent to the mill Moruy the next day, to-mor- 
to be ground row 



( $25 > 

MoUi the moiUU Aluslin-kail, broth conipas^ 

Moudiewort, a mole ed simply of water, shel- 

Motiszey dimin. of mouse Jed barley, and greens 

Muckle ormeikle^ gveat, big, Mutchkin^ an English pint 

much Mysel, myself 

Muaicy dimin. of muse 

N 

.VA*, No, not, nor ^ievefu* handful 

Aae, no, not any M/r^ry an exchange, ta 

^aet fling, or naithing^ exchange, to barter 

nothing Mger, a negro 

^'aigi a horse Mne-taifed-caty hangman's 
Miney none whip 

Nappy y ale, to be tipsy AT/, a nut 

Keglcckity neglected JVorland^ of or belonginy 
MebQr, a neighbour to the north 

Muk^ nook J^oticUy noticed 

N'eives, or Mevcy fists A^ow^e, black cattle- 
Meaty next 

O 

O*, Of On>, shivering, drooping 

Ochfls. name ofnAountains 'J//r*(?/, or ot*rs^/.?, ourselves 
//a?V//, O faith ! an oath OutUra^ cattle not housed 
Onyy or omc, any Ozyr^,, over, too 

Or, is often used for ere, Oivre-'hip^ a way of fetch- 
before ing a blow with the 
0*ty of it hammer over the arm 

P 

TACKy intimate, familiar. Paly did put, a pot 

twelve stone of wool Pattle^ or ficttley a plough- 
Painchy paunch staft' 

Paitrickf a partridge Paughty^ proud, haughty 

Pangy to cram ' Pauky, or fiawkic, cua- 

Pflr/iV, speech ning, sly 

Parritchy oatmeal pudding, Pmfty paid, beat 
a well-known Scotch Pee/ty to fetch the breatl^ 
dish short, oa in gn asthmit 

V f 



( .126 ) 



Pc^hauy the crop, ihe sto- low for rent 

mach PoortUh^ poverty 

Peditiy peeling i^ow, to pull 

Pet^ a domesticated sheep, Pouk, to pluck 

^c. Pou&sir, a have, or cat 

Philibeg.^^ short petticoats Pouty a poult, a chick 

worn by the Highland- J"owV, did pull 

men Poiit/ierrj^ like powder 

P/n-aise, fiiir speeches, flat- Potv, the head, the sloill 

tery, to flatter Po^vnie, a little horse 

P/irahirij flattery Poivther^ or poutker^ pov- 

Pickie^ auraall quantity der 

Phie^ pain, uneasiness Prcen^ a pin 

Pit^ to put Prent^ printing 

Placad^ a public proclama* Prie^ to taste 

tion, to publish publicly Prie*d^ tasted 
Plack, an old Scotch coin, Pritf.i proof 

the 3d part of a Scotch Prig^ to cheapen, to dis- 

penny, 1>S of which pute 

make an English penny Priggin^ cheapeninc: 
Piackleasy pennyless, with- Primiscy demure, precise 

out money Profione^ to lay down, to 

Platte^ dimin. of plate propose 

Pletv, or fikughy a plough Provesesy provosts 
Pliskie^ a trick Pund, pound, pounds 

Poind f to seize on cattle, Py/*?, a /zz//^ o* cq/^, a single 

or take the goods, as grain of chaff*. 

the laws of Scotland al- 

Q 

QUJT, to quit Q^ci/y a cow from one to 

Quak, to quake two years old 

R 

RJGlVEEDy herb rag- verspent 
wort Ram-sta?n, thoughtless^ 

Raibky to rattle nonsense forward 

Rairy to roar Rafitochy firofierly a coarse 

Raize y to madden to in- cloth, but used as an «rf- 
flame noun for coarse 

jMm-feerl*dy fatigued, o- Rarely, excellently, very 



( 327 



well 
jf^ns/i^ a rnslij rakh-buw, a 



stones, a term, in curlings 
on ice 



bush of rushes 
Jiation^ a rat 

Rauck. rash, stout, fearless Riskit 
Jiaught^ reached 
i^i7Ty, a'i'ow 
Rau.^ to stretch 
Ra.r^d, stretched 
Rrcan^ cream; to cream 
Reamin^ brimful, frothing 
Reave, rove 
/?c<rA'. to heed 
Reeky counsel, to counsel 
Red-vjat'shod, walking in 



Ri/i, a handful of unthresh- 
ed corn 

made a uaiss like- 



the tearing of roots 



Rcckhiy see Appendix, fi. 

S03. 
Rood, stands likewise for 

t/ie plural rood* 
Roon, a shred 
Rooncs to praise, to coin« 

mend 
Roiin*, round, in the circle 

of neighbourhood 



blood over the shoe io\>s Roujiet, hoarse, as with a 



Red'ioud, stark mad 
Ree, half drunk, fuddled 
Reeky smoke 
Rcckin, smoking 
Retkit, smoked, smoky 
P^emead^ remedy 
Requite^ requited 
Rest, to stand restive 



cold 
Routhie, plentiful 
Roulh o' ^ear^ plenty 

goods 
Rankled, wrinkled 
Ro~v^ to roll, to wrap 
RotvU., roiieu, 
Rowte, to low, to bellow 



of 






Res til, stood restive, stunt- Roivth, plenty 



ed, withered 

Restricked, restricted 

Re%v, repent 

Riff, Reef, plenty 

Rief randies, siurdy beg- 
gars 

Rig, a ridge 

Rin, to run, to melt j rinin, 
running 

Rink, the course of the 



Ronvtin, lowing 

Rozet, rosin 

Rung, a cudgel 

Runt, the stem of colewort 

or cabbage 
Ru7ikled, wrinkled 
Ruth, a woman's name, 

the book so called ; eor- 

rovv. 



SAE, so 

Saft, soft 

&7/>, to serve, a sore 



Sairly, or sairlie^ so/ely 
Sair't, served 
^^arkj a shirt 



( 328 ) 



Sarkify provided in shirts Set^^y sets ojf^ gees away 

Shairdy a shred, a shard 
Shangany a stick cleft ' at 
orii; QX\6 for putting the 
tail of a doj{, &c. into, by 
Avay of mischief, or to 
frighten him away 
Shaver, a humourous wag,. 

a barber 
S/ia7i>, to shew, a small 
wood in a hollow place 
Sheeriy brij.^ht, shining 
&icep-shank^ to thhik one*s 
self nae shrcfi-i-hank^ to 
be conceited 
Sherra-moovy sherriff-moor, 
the Jtimous battle fought 
in the Rebellion. A. D. 
1715 
a Shoughy a ditch, a trench, 
a sluice 
Shicl, a shed 
^.cTidvey to glide swiftly ShUly shrill 

along Shog^ a shock, a push off 

.'^crievin, gleesomely, swift- at one side 
ly Shooly a shovel 

Scriwfiy to scant &'hooriy shoes 

Scrhn/iety did scant, scanty Shorcy to offer, to threaten 
See*dy did see Shortly offered 

Seizctiy seizing Shouthei'y the shoulder 

"SWj self, a bodifs sel, one's "SVc, such 

self, alone Sicktry sure, steady 



Savghy the willow 
Suuly the soul 
Sainnont^ salvo on 
Saiinty a saint 
''^mtty salt 

f'MtVy- to SOW 

Caivin, sowing 

iSffjT, six 

Scavy to scare, a scar 

Scait/iy to damage, to in- 
jure, injury 

Scmidy to scald 

Seal I Id, to scold 

Scauvy ai)t to be scared 

Scarjly a scold 

'^ccriy a kind of bread 

Scanner y a loathing, to 
loathe 

Scraichy to scream, «» 
^nj partridgey Isfc. 

Screed, to tear, a rent 



Sidelinsy sidelong, slanting 
Sillevy silver, money 



Seirt, did sell 

Se7i*y to send 

Sen^iy I, he, or she sent, or Sinmier, summer 
did send, send it Siriy a son 

Se7'van% servant Si7i% since 

Scttliriy settling ; to get a SkaitH, to damage, to in- 
settliriy to be frighted jure, injury 
ipto^quictness Skellurriy a worthless fel 



( 329 ) 

low ugly 

Skel/2, to strike, to slap ; ^-mytrie, a numerous col- 

to walk with a smart lection of small individ- 

tripping step ; a smart uals 

stroke Sriupfici\ stuinble 

^'kcl/ii-l'urnyier^ a technical Sna^li^ abuse, Billingsgate 

term in female scolding Snaiv^ snow, to snow 
Sl-rlfufiy walking S7iaw-broo^ melted snow 

>^k(ig/i, proud, nice, high Snanule^ snowy 

mettled Sncd^ to lop, to cut oft 

Ski?ikiin, a small portion Srieeshin, snuft' 
Skiriitiif, shrieking, crying Snecshin-mill^ a snuff-box 
Skirls to shriek, to cry Sncll^ bitter, biting 

siirilly Snrck-drawing, trick-con- 

SkirPt^ shrieked triving / 

Sklent, slant, to run aslant, Sncck, the latchet of a do-* 

to deviate from the trnth Sncol, one whose spirit ib 
Sklented^ ran, or hit, in an broken with oppressive 

oblique direction slavery , to submit tame- 

Skrelg/i, a scream, to ly, to sneak 

scream Snoovc, to go smoothly ari(\ 

•S/rt'', sloe constantly, to sneak 

^Slade, did slide Sjionifk, to scent or snuff, as 

Siafl<, a gate, a breach in a .a dogy hovsc, iJfc. 

fence Snoivkit^ sctnted, snuffed 

Slaw, slow Sonsir^ having sweet en- 

Siee, sly, tlc^C'tt, slyest giagi^Jg looks ; lucky, jol- 

S/cekif, sleek, s!y ly 

^liddery, slippery Soofji^ to sv im 

Shjfie^ to fall over, as a xvet Sooth,, truth, a petty oath 

fiirroTj from the fdoir^h Soiirrh, a sigh, a sound 
Slufitty fell (lying on the ear 

Sma\ small Scivans^ a dish made of oat - 

Sincddum, dust, powder, intal, tlie .seeds of oat- 

m-'le, sense meal towred, &c. boiled 

Sniiddy^ a smith's shop up till ti\ey make an 

Smoor, to smotlier ' agreeable ]3udding 

Smcor'd, i^molhered Soufde^ flexible. s\vift 

Smomicy smutty, obscene, Souter, a shoemaker 

T f 3 



( o30 ; 

Sonvfi^ a spoonful, a small ding or porridi^?, a no- 
quantity of any thing table Scotch ^ish 
liquid Squad^ a crew, a party 

Sonvfh^ to try over a tune ^quatter^ to flutter in wa- 
with a low whistle ter, cs a nvild duck, Scs. 

Soivther, solder, to solder, SguaUle, to sprawl 

to cement Sqiitel, a scream, a screech, 

S/iae, to prophesy, to di- to scream 

vine Slacker, to stag^^er 

Sjiaid, a limb Stack, a rick of corn, hay, 

S/iairge, to dash, to soil, as Sec. 

w/ih mire St aggie, dimin. of stag 

Spates, swollen streams Stahvart, strong, stout 
Spavict, having the spavin Stant*, to stand ; stan*t did 
Sjitat, a sweeping torrent, stand 

after rain or thaw S(unc^ a stone 

Sfieel, to climb Sumk, did stink, a pool of 

SjieiKe, the country par- standing water 

lour Stap, stop 

S/iicr, to ask, to inquire Siark, stout 
SfiierU, iivquired Startle, to run, a* cattle 

SjUattcr, a splutter, to stung by the gadjly 

splutter Slaumrel, a blockhead, half 

Splevghan^ a tobacco- witted 

pouch Sta%v, did steal, to surfeit 

S/ilore, a frolic, a noise, Stech, to cram the belly 

a riot Stcckin, cramming 

S/iratile, to scramble Stecky to shut, a stitch 

S/ireckled, spotted, speckled Steer, to molest, to stiv 
S/ir?ng, a quick air in mn- Steeve, firm, comixicted 

sic, a Scottish reel Siell, a still 

S//7/, a tougii-rn)U-'d plant, Sien, to rear as a horse 

something like tushes. Ste7i*t, rcdvcil 
Sitritticy fuil of spirits StciUs, tribute, dues of any 

S/ntnk, fire, mettle, wit kind 

^7i«/M'/>, mettlesome, fiery j Stey, steep steyest, steepest 
will-o-nvispj or ignis fa- Stibble, stubble, stibble-rig, 
tuiui the reaper in harvest 

Spur the, a stick used in who takes the lead 
Riuking oat-meal pud- Stick an' stoiV: totally, alto^ 



( 331 ) 

gether Streek, stretched, to siretcli 

Stilt, a crutch, to hi^lt, to Striddlcy straddle 

hnip, to halt Stroan, to spout, to piss 

Stimpart, the eighth part Studdie, an anvil 

ofa Winchester bushel Stumfiiey dimin. of stump 
Stirk, a cow or bullock a Sirunt, spiritous liquor 

year old of any kind ; to walk 

Stock, a plant or root of sturdily 

colewoit, cabbage, Sec. Sttif, corn or pulse of a- 
Stockin, stocking ; throw- ny kind 

ing the 8tockin\, when Sturt, trouble, to molest 

the bride and bride- Stiirtin, frighted 

groom are put into bed, tucker, sugar 

and the candle out, the ^^^^h should 

former throws a stock- -^"f^^j the continued rush- 
ing at random among '"g noise of wind or wa- 

the company, and the ter 

person whom it strikes '^'"^'''^ow, southern, an old 

is the next that will be name for the English 

married nation 

Stocked, made up in shocks Sivarf, swoon 

as corn Swaird, sward 

Stoor, sounding hollow, Swnll*d, swelled 
y strong and hoarse Sivavk, stately, jolly 

Stot, an ox Sivankie, or swanker, 

Stou/i, or stonv/i, a kind of tight strapping youngi 

jug or dish with a handle fellow or girl 
Stourc, dust, 7no7'e particu- Swap, an exchange, t« 

larly dust in motion barter 

Stowlms, by stealth Stvat, did sweat 

Stown, stolen Swatch, a sample 

Stoyte, stumble Sn-aia, drink, good ale 

Strack, did strike ^ivcaten, sweating 

Strae, straw ; to die a fair Swccr, lazy, averse, dead- 
htrae death, to die in bed swcer^ extremely averse 
Straik, did «ti'ike Swoor, did swear 

Straikit, stroked Swinge, to beat, to whip 

Strapfian, tall and hand- Swirlie, knaggy, full of 

some knots 

Srraught, straight Si:;irl, a curve» an eddying 



C 332 ) 

blast, or pool, a knot in Swither, to hesitate in 
wood choice, an irresohite 

Swil/iy get away wavering in choice 

Syne, since, ago, then. 
T 

TACKETS^ A kind of 7V«;z>, heedful, cautious 
nails Sbr driving into Tenrkss, heedless 
the h«els of shoes Tcuglu tough 

Tae^ a toe ; three tae'dy Thack, thatch, thack an* 
having three prongs rape^ cloathing necessa- 

TairgCj target ries 

Tak^ to take ; takin^ taking T/iac^ these 

Tamtallaii, the name of a Ihatrrns, small-guts, fid- 
mountain die-strings 

Ihnglc, a se^ weed Thankit, thanked 

7(7/2, the top Thegii/ier, together 

Ta/ietless^ heedless, foolish Themael^ themselves 

Tarrow, to murmur at Thick^ intimate, ftimiliar 
one's allowance TMe^^eles^^ cold, dry, SjfjO' 

TarrowU, murmured ken of a fiersQn*s dcmea- 

Tarry-breeks, a sailor 7iour 

Tauld, 01' tald. told l^hir^ these 

Taupie^ a foolish thought- Thirl, to thrill 

less young person Thirled, thrilled, vibrated 

Tauttd^ or lautie^ matted Thole^ to suffer, to endure 
together, spoken of hair Thoive^ a thaw, to thaw 
or wool Thotvless, slack, lazy 

Tflw/f, that allows itself 7%rflw^, throng, a crowd 

peaceably to be handled, Thra/ifile^ throat, wind- 
spoken of a horse y coWy is'c. pipe 

Teafy a small quantity Thraiv, to sprain, to twist, 

Teddingy s])reading after to contradict 

the mower Thniwing, twisting, Sec. 

Ten-hourfi-bitCy a slight Thranvny sprained, twisted 
feed to the horses while Threap, to maintain by 
in the yoke, in the fore- dint of assertion 
noon Threshiny thrashing 

yV«^ a field pulpit, heed, Thretfeiiy thirteen 
caution, to take heed Thrist/e, thistle 



( 333 ) 



Tnroti^h^ to go Oil with, lo Toivmotid, a twelvemonth 
make out Totvzie^ rough, shagf^y 

Throufher, pell-mell, con- Toy^ a very okl fashion of 
fusedly 

Thud^ to make a loud inter- 
mittent noise 

Thumpit^ tluimped 



female head-dress 
Tovt(\ to totter lik 



Thysdy thyself 

TilVi, to it 

Timmer^ timber 

linCf to lose j tint^ lost 

Tinkler^ a tinker 

Tint the gate, lost the way 

Tifi, a ram 

Tijipence^ two-pence 

3Tr/, to make a slight noise, 

to uncover 
Tirlin^ uncovering 
Ttthery the other 
Tittle^ to whisper 
Tittlin^ whispering 
7\che.r^ marriage portion 
T(jd^ a fox 
Toddle^ to totter, like the Tiva^ two 



old age 

Tranfi m nsripfd^ trans ni i - 
grated, iTietamorphosed 

Trashtrie^ trash 

Trlckie-t full of tricks 

Trigy spruce, neat 

Tritniij^ excellently 

Trctof-, trowsers 

Tronv^ to believe 

Tronvth^ truth, a petty oatb 

Trysted, appointed ; to 
tryste, to make an ap- 
pointment 

Trcf'i, tryed 

Tui(^ raw hide, of which in 
old times plough traces 
were frequently made 

Tulzicy a quarrel, to quar- 
rel, to fight 



Tivaihrecy a few 

*Tivad^ it would 

7\vul^ twelve; twal-Jicnnity 

worthy a small quantity, a 

penny worth 
N. B. One penny English^ i8 

lid. Scotch 
a Twin, to part 
7\k€, a dog 



v/alk of a child 

Toddlin, tottering 

Toom, empty 

Tbo/i, a ram 

Toun, a hamlet, a farm- 
house 

7 cut, the blast of a horn 
oi- trumpet, to blow- 
horn, &c. 

Tow, a rope 

U 

UJWO, strange, uncouth, unhurt 
veiy, very great, pro- U?iiveefing, unwottinrg, un- 
d;:?,ious knowing 

UncJ;, news Unsickcr, unsure, unsteady 

Unk.n^d, unknown Urchin, a hedge-hog 

^nskaith*d, undamaged, Upo% upon 



( 354 ) 

VJP'RIJV^ vapourint; Virl^ a ring round a coN 

Veray Very umn, &c. 

W 
WA\ wall ; 7ya'.?, wails WcU^ wet ; / nvaf, I nvot, I 

Wabfitc)^ a weaver know 

Wad^ would, to bet, a bet Watcr-brose^ brosc Tnade of 
Wadna, would not meal and water simply, 

n^«.", woe, sorrowful without the additions of 

IVdff^ woof milk, butter, Sec. 

Ji^nr.'iucL'! I or 7varg me, aU&l JVaiile, a twig, a wand 

O the pity ! Waublc, to swing, to reel 

IVafty the cross thread that Wmight^ draught 

goes from the shuttle IFaukit, thickenc<l aa fullers 

through the web do cloth 

Wmfu\ wailing Wauknfc^ not apt to sleep 

Wair^ to lay out, to expend JVaur^ worse> to worst 
Walc^ choice, to choose Waur't, worsted 
Ward, chose, chosen Weav, or lueanie, a child 

Walir, ample, large, jolly ; JVearie, or Weary ; many a 

also an interjectmi tif dia- wcaric hody^ many a dif* 

tretiH ferent person 

Warn:', tlie belly Weason. the wind pipe 

Wa7nr/bu\ a belly full Weaving the stocking. Sec 

Wanc/ia7ine, unlucky Throiuiiig the stocking, page 

Wunrcfitfu\ restless 33 1 

Wark, work Wee, little; ivee things^ lit- 

Wark-luwe, a tool to work tic ones ; i;fee bit, a small 

with matter 

Warly or nvarld, world IVecl, well ; ivecljare, wcl- 

J J 'a t lo ck, a w i zza rd fa re 

Warly, worldly, eager on a- IVeet, raiB, wetness 

massing wealth Weird, fate 

Wai-rauy a warrant, to war- We*se, we shall 

rant JVha, who 

Worst, -worst Whaizle, to wheeze 

Warstl'd, or warsl'd, wrest- Whalfiit^ whelped 

led Whang, a leathern string, 

Waratle, wrestling, gtrug- a piece of cheese, breads 

gling Sec. to give the strappa- 

WmatriCf prodigality do 

OCT "0 m 



( 355 ) 

IMiare^ where, ivhare^er, der^ng 

wherever \Vhi^ to wmd, to wmnow 

JV/i€(f/ij to fly nimbly, to IVin'c, -wind, as m bottom of 

jerk ; /leiiny-whec/i^ small yarn 

beer Win*^ wind; vnn's, ^inds 

IVhase, M'hose IVivna^ will not 

IVhatreck^ nevertheless IVinnock^ a window 

^F/z/V/, the motion of a hare, IVmsomc, hearty, vauntfeij 

running but not fright- gay 

ed, a lie. tVintle, a staggering mo- 

IVhiddiriy running as a lion i to stagger, to reel 

hare or coney Winze, an oath 

fVJiigrntieerzeSy whims, fan- TViss, to wish 

cies, crotchets Without ten, without 

W/iingin, crying, complain- Wizen'd, hide boimd, dri- 

ing, fretting ed, shrunk 

Whirligigums, useless or- Wonner^ a wonder, a con- 

naments, trifling appen- tcmptuous appelation 

dages Wans, dwells 

^TA/^^/e*, a whistle, to whistle Woo\ wool 
Whisht, silence, to hold Woo, to court, to make 

owe'* ivhi&ht, to be silent love to 
Whisk, to sweep, to lash Woodie, a rope, more firo» 
Whiskit, lashed i^erly one made ofivithes or 

Whitter, a hearty draught nvillonvs. 

of liquor Wooer-bab, the garter knot- 

Whmi'Stane, a whin-stone ted below the knee with 
Whyles, whiles, sometimes a couple of loops 
Wi\ with Wordy, worthy 

Wick, to strike a stone in Wersct, worsted 

«n oblique direction, a Woiv^ an exclamation of 

term in curling pleasure or ^iTondcr 

Wicker, willow (the smal- Wrack, to tcazc, to vex 

ler sort) Wud-mad, distracted 

Wiel, a small whirl-pool Wumble, a wimble 
Wijie, a dimin. or endearing Wraith, a spirit, a ghost ; 

term for wife apparition exactly like 

Wim/de, to meander a living person, wliose 

Wim^d^t, meandered appearance is said to 

Wim/iUn, waving, mean- forebode the persoa'« 



( i56 ) 

appi-oaching death ^yiey beguile 

Wrangy wrong, to wrong TVyliecoat, a flannel vest 
Wreethy a drifted heap of WytCy blame, to blame 

snow 

Y 

TEy this fironoun h fre- Yetty a gate, *uc/i as /« 

quently used for thou uiually at the entrance in- 

Tearnsy longs much to ajhrin yard orJitH 

Tear lings y born in tho Yilly ale 

same years, coevals Yird, earth 

Year^ is usedjbr both smgu- Yokiny a bout 

lar and filurMly years Yonty beyond 
Telly barren, that gives no Youraely yourself 

milk Fowe, anewe 

Yerky to lash, to jerk Fow/e, dimin. ofyowe 

Yerkity jerked, lashed Yulcy Christmas. 

Yestreen, yesternight 



Deacidified using the Bookkeeper procesi 
Neutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide 
Treatment Date: March 2009 

PreservationTechnologiej 

A WORLD LEADER IN COLLECTIONS PRESERVATIOi 

111 Thomson Park Drive 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 




014 388 250 









■■.',. . ,"■• ' ■ ••■ • •^■■■V'^".?l ■iVl':"-!"' YV^^-i 










'.-,- •)-.,,; i/,r. ,')"■'■•' 










rvu'^ 



